The Rose Garden Conspiracy
by Maddy Carr
Summary: A stolen memo, a meeting in the Rose Garden and the IRS. A mystery is afoot.
1. Default Chapter

Title: The Rose Garden Conspiracy

Title: The Rose Garden Conspiracy part 1

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1] (Feedback means more to me than gold)

Rating: PG

Subject: Josh/Donna, Sam/Ainsley (sort-of, in a very twisted way…)

Spoilers: Five Votes Down/Season 2 up to and including The Leadership Breakfast

Disclaimer: All the characters herein are the legal property of NBC and Aaron Sorkin esq. Sue me not, fair Sirs, as my pockets are empty and I do but dally awhile with these fair mortals and will return them intact, anon.

Summary: A stolen memo, a meeting in the Rose Garden and the IRS. A mystery is afoot. Does it have something to do with Josh's missing coffee mug? And what is CJ hiding in her office? Why is Donna in Ainsley's cupboard with Sam? Just another 'normal' day at the West Wing…

Author Note: Okay, here's the thing. I know nothing at all about the US tax system, or the IRS, or anything, and it probably shows. But, hey, go with it guys, it's what we 'authors' call a Plot Device (capital letters optional) ;-)

Part 1 - Josh POV

Toby Ziegler is a dead man.

But before I boil him in oil and pull his fingernails out, I am going to torture him, slowly and mercilessly, for many days. I'll remove the comma key from his laptop, I'll tell him so many fish jokes that he will never be able to look a crab puff in the eye again, I'll yell 'The Yankees Suck!' every time he passes my office, I'll…

Oh.

I was going to say, 'I'll sic the IRS on him', but in the circumstances that little plan may just backfire…

Let me explain:

Half an hour ago (precisely 7.46am), I was sitting quietly and innocently at my desk, nursing my first cup of coffee of the day, when the man in question knocked, poked his head around the door without waiting for an answer, and said, ominously,

"Josh, don't overreact, but I've gotta tell you something."

Now, when someone says the words 'don't overreact', you can pretty much guarantee that what they are about to say is not going to make you jump through hoops in joy. When it's Toby I-don't-care-what-you-do-as-long-as-you-read-the-words-on-the-page Ziegler who says them, you should start running for the hills and not even stop to pack because when the proverbial hits the fan, you don't want to be around to see it.

So, understandably, the first words out of my mouth were,

"Don't tell me. I don't wanna know."

Not very constructive, I'll admit, but self-preservation has been pretty high on my agenda lately.

Toby winced, but didn't go away. In fact, he even double-checked to make sure the door was closed after him.

"You've got to know this one Josh, or you'll be pretty damn surprised when you're arrested for fraud."

"WHAT!?"

Toby at least had to grace to look slightly sheepish at my outburst. I could feel the newly healed scar in the palm of my hand throb against the heat of my coffee mug, so I carefully placed it back on the desk. 

"Tell me."

Toby sighed and rubbed his beard.

"You have no idea how much I don't want to tell you, but here goes. You know the financial disclosures at the end of last year?"

Oh, God, not again…

"Yes?"

"Well, I inadvertently failed to declare everything."

"What on earth could you have forgotten to declare? You only earned $1 last year. And nobody gives you gifts, because you're a…"

"Paranoid nudnick?"

"That too."

"Thanks Josh, your concern is underwhelming."

I could hear a faint growl in the back of my throat at that point and I think Toby heard it too because he hurried on,

"My aunt died and left me some money of which I failed to inform the IRS and now I haven't paid any tax on it."

"Why did you fail to tell the IRS?"

"Because I only found out about the money yesterday."

I felt my heart returning to its normal speed when I realised that Toby was indeed being paranoid. And stupid.

"Toby, I know that you are ignorant and naïve when it comes to financial matters, but I would have thought that even you would have realised that the financial year ended on…"

"She left me the money last September."

I think I checked the level of my coffee at that point. Perhaps I had been hallucinating the whole conversation in a caffeine-deprived fugue state. Half-full. Maybe, maybe not…

"She left you the money last September, but you only heard about it yesterday?"  


"I believe that's what I said, yes."

"Okay. Just checking. Why?"

"Because she was a stupid, bitter, vindictive old trout. I hated her guts and was glad when she died and didn't want to hear anything more about her ever again. And I ignored all the letters from her lawyer."

Maybe I needed to start drinking the extra-strength double espresso…

"Um…Toby, why did she leave you money if you hated her?"

"According to her lawyer, it was because I was the only member of the Ziegler family who completely ignored her, and this apparently endeared me to her."

"You endeared yourself to your dead aunt by ignoring her?"

"Again, that is what I said, yes."

"Well, I can understand that part. In fact, if you were to start ignoring me, I would find myself becoming very endear…"

"Stop talking"

"Okay"

"My late and completely not-lamented aunt is not important. What is important is the $1 salary for last year."

"Why is your, incidentally, well deserved salary important?"

"Because before I fired my accountant, I asked him to be very specific in telling the IRS that I would only be paying tax on the $125,000 from the stock thing and not on anything else as I would be earning…less."

"Toby, there are performing dogs that earned less than you last year"

"Josh, for the love of God, would you start taking this seriously?"

I wanted to say that only God knows how seriously I'm taking this, but I wisely kept my mouth shut in case he came at me with a salad fork. Toby is the most single-minded and focused individual I have ever met, bar none, and when something comes along which distracts him from his one-man mission to save the planet by the power of words, he becomes…a trifle testy. Besides, I really, really didn't need this. Does he know I am not a well man?

"Sorry"

"Okay. Well, the thing is, not only do I now owe a truck load of back taxes, it looks really bad, because…"

At this point, he trailed off and actually looked pale. I on the other hand was still struggling to catch up. Perhaps a larger coffee mug…

"Because?"

"Well, frankly, it looks like I conspired to get my salary reduced in order to avoid taxation on an undeclared larger sum, using the $125,000 stock thing as a red herring, and waiting until the new financial year before sneaking the new lump sum in through the back door, thus defrauding the IRS of…some money."

Wait a minute. Larger sum?

"How much?"

"How much, what?"

Of all the times to be cagey…

"Don't torture me, Toby. How much money did your aunt leave you?"

"Some"

"Toby…"

I swear, his beard was practically jiggling with mortification. It was a sight I would have enjoyed on any other occasion.

"Half a million dollars"

I gaped and him. And goggled. Because, really, I had no words… I was thinking, forget stronger coffee, maybe I could get pure caffeine. On an intravenous drip…

"HALF A MILLION DOLLARS?"

That wasn't quite what I had wanted to say, but hey, give me some leeway here. I mean, half a million? In dollars?

"You want to try that again louder, Josh? I don't think they heard you in the Residence"

He had that sarcastic, twitchy grimace thing going on, but I could tell he was seriously perturbed. Well, I mean, who wouldn't be? Half a million…

"What is with you, Toby? Do you have a secret pact with the money fairies? You care less about money than anyone I've ever met, and you also accrue it faster than anyone I've ever met. Is this some sort of Feng Shui thing? Do you have a money tree in the Southeast corner of your bedroom? Do you…"

"JOSH!"

Guess I got stuck in a groove there…

"Okay, first up, it scares me that you know anything at all about Feng Shui and secondly, would you STOP with the money thing, already? I could be facing jail for a Federal crime here. And, incidentally, you as well."

"what…?"

From shouting to squeaking in the space of a minute. Not a good sign.

It was at that point that my fair assistant, with her usual exquisite sense of timing, stuck her head around the door.

"Josh, Congressman Wick wants to talk to you about the Health Bill thing, shall I schedule him in?"

I think I just stared at her. The words 'Federal crime' were still bouncing around in my brain.

"Josh, are you okay?"

I suddenly found my voice,

"ME? Why me as well? What the HELL?"

Without missing a beat, Donna turned on Toby,

"Toby, what did you do to Josh? He's rhyming his swear words, and you know we all suffer when he does that."

"Why ME?"

"What's the matter, Josh? How much coffee have you had to drink this morning?"

"NOT ENOUGH!"

Okay, Donna really didn't deserve that. I immediately resolved to apologise at the next opportunity, when Toby suddenly grabbed my arm and started tugging me towards the door. I stumbled after him, feeling like a ten-year-old on my way to the Principal's office.

"Excuse us, Donna, but Josh and I have to go and see someone about a thing now"

"What? We do? Who?"

The grip on my arm tightened and as we careered through the bull pen, Toby's voice growled in my ear,

"Just shut up and keep walking, I'll explain on the way. And stop with the rhyming thing."

He mercifully released my arm and as I was sucked along in his wake, I heard Donna faintly in the background shouting,

"Josh? Josh! What about Congressman Wick…?"

Congressman Wick could have streaked through the Oval Office at that moment, and I wouldn't have batted an eyelid. I had more urgent things to think about. Like jail. And how to keep me out of it.

"Toby?"

As I hurried to keep up, Toby said over his shoulder,

"You're up to your neck in it because you authorised the $1 salary thing."

I did?

"I did? But the President…"

"It was a delegation thing. The President was busy so he passed the forms to Leo, and Leo…"

"…passed the forms to me."

"Yep"

Oh God. I resolved then and there that the next time Donna told me to read something before I signed it, I would suck it up and do as she said.

The next moment, I bounced off Toby's rather solid back and fell against the wall next to CJ's office, clutching my chest.

"Ow"

Toby must have had some weird clairvoyant thing going on because the next instant, CJ's door flew open. She stuck her head out and glanced furtively up and down the corridor, squeaked when she saw us, and immediately slammed the door shut again.

Toby started walking again. I staggered after him. My hand hurt, my chest hurt, and now my nose was complaining. I said, rather breathlessly,

"That was strange."

"CJ? I have frequently thought so."

"No, not CJ. Well, yes CJ too. I meant the smell."

"What smell?"  


"The smell coming from her office"

"Perhaps it was her perfume"

"I don't think even CJ would wear 'eau de rotten organic matter', 'cos that's what it smelled like."

Toby ignored me and I gave up my attempts to distract myself from the escalating nightmare.

"Where are we going?"

"To see Ainsley."

"Ainsley Hayes? The Republican?"

"Yes, Ainsley Hayes. You make being a Republican sound like a disease."

"You mean it's not?"

He ignored me again. I said, tiredly,

"Why are we going to see Ainsley?"

"Because when my aunt's lawyers couldn't get hold of me, they contacted my accountant. My accountant told them I'd fired him so they got hold of my bank. The bank informed the IRS about the money and the IRS, scenting a plot, contacted the White House Counsel's Office."

I was terrified at that moment.

"An IRS investigator told a Republican lawyer that he suspected some financial wrongdoing by the Democratic White House's Senior Staff?"

"Yes. And keep your voice down."

I had just lived through a really horrible year. The worst year of my life. And now my career was about to come crashing down around my ears in a truly spectacular fashion. I felt like falling to my knees in supplication and screaming 'WHY ME?'

"Toby, this is horrible! It's…it's disastrous! We could go to jail!"

He finally stopped walking and I had to break sharply to prevent another painful collision. He spun on the spot to face me.

"I KNOW. What do you think I've been trying to tell you for the last half hour? Would you stay with the plot line, Josh?"

I tried to take a deep, calming breath when there was a noise behind me, Leo popped out of nowhere, pounced on us, and shouted with a face like thunder,

"Toby!"

I think I may have let out a little scream, I certainly staggered and fell back against the wall again. If I managed to keep my job, I was going to insist that everyone wore bells around their necks.

"Josh, what the hell is the matter with you? Toby, I want to see you in my office NOW!"

I looked at Toby to see how he was taking this order. Did it mean that news of the IRS fiasco had reached Leo's ears? Neither of us dared say a word; I don't think I have seen Toby look quite that discomforted before.

"Leo…"

"Don't say anything, Toby, just be in my office in 60 seconds," he rounded on me suddenly,

"And for God's sake Josh, switch to decaf!"

Leo disappeared back into whatever hole he'd popped out of to begin with and Toby and I were left staring miserably at each other.

"Well, I have to go and…" Toby pointed towards Leo's office. He hesitated and failed utterly to meet my eye. "Josh…"

No, no, no, no

"…You'll have to go and…"

"…See Ainsley."

"Yeah"

I'll say it again: Toby Ziegler is a dead man.

I am standing here now in front of Ainsley's door and I am looking back in nostalgia at what my life had been a mere one half hour, and a whole lifetime ago. There is a cold dread lurking somewhere deep inside me that won't go away because I think that this time, and for the stupidest and most banal of reasons, I'm about to lose everything that I have ever worked for.

As I stand in the White House basement, my fist poised to knock at the door of a Republican lawyer, a fleeting thought passes through my head,

'I wonder if Donna will come with me if I'm forced to resign…' 

"Come in!"

Ainsley is standing to the side of her small desk, an Alice band holding those golden locks away from her face. She looks like Doris Day's younger sister and I'm trying to recall exactly why the President saw fit to hire her. Unfortunately, my inner-CJ is whacking me repeatedly about the head with a rolled up copy of Ms. Magazine for even entertaining those thoughts so I am forced to consider that perhaps I should give Ainsley the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she won't be gloating at the thought of seeing some 'smug and self-righteous' Democrats brought low…

"Mr. Lyman…"

"Josh"

"Yes. Thank you, Sir. I am concerned. It concerns me and disturbs me that a man in your position and a man in Mr. Ziegler's…"

"Toby's"

"Yes, Sir. That a man in his position could have so carelessly and wantonly exposed the White House to any appearance, however unpremeditated, of impropriety."

"We did? I mean, You are?"

What did she just say?

"Yes. You have both shown an unmindful disregard for the formal lines of procedure so necessary for upholding the reputation of the office you serve."

I really don't have a clue what she's talking about. And as for that accent, she must have a hell of job to be taken seriously, because at the moment, I feel like Ashley being scolded by Melanie for dancing with Scarlett at the ball.

"Ainsley?"

"Yes?"

"What are you going to do about it?"

Her answer this time is mercifully to the point.

"I am going to meet with Mr. Gneiss from the IRS in twenty minutes when I will explain the entirely innocent, though admittedly strange, circumstances surrounding this perfectly understandable mistake."

Although I am deeply, deeply relieved that she appears to be on our side after all, my mind gets stuck on one point…

  
"Mr. Nice? His name is Mr. Nice?"

"Yes"

"You've got to be kidding me!"

She actually looks genuinely puzzled.

"Why would I kid you?"

"Never mind…"  


My brain, which has been floundering about like a suffocating fish for the past hour, has suddenly decided to reassert itself and is now buzzing furiously. I start to pace as I think, measuring the floor of Ainsley's tiny office. Five paces to the cupboard - we can't have an IRS investigator with a peculiar name wandering about the West Wing - four paces to the corner - you can't keep anything quiet in this madhouse - seven paces to the opposite corner - we have to appear a little bemused by it all - six paces back to the cupboard - appearance is everything - four paces to the door - concerned but casual - two more paces - welcoming but formal - YES. GOT IT.

I am the Master Strategist.

"Meet him in the Rose Garden"

Ainsley starts at my voice. She looks a little dizzy.

"The Rose Garden? Why?"

"Never mind why. Just do it!"

I can feel a grin spreading across my face. This might just work…

"Mr. Lyman…"

"Josh"

"Yes. How can I possibly hold an important meeting outside?"

"Because it's not an important meeting", I say triumphantly.

I have rendered her speechless. Score one for the Democrats!

"Ainsley, you have to do this. Do you have any idea what could happen if certain individuals got wind of a potential financial scandal?"

"People like Lillienfield?"

"Yes, exactly. Lillienfield. Do you know what he would say if he heard about this?"

"Yes, I do"

She sounds very certain.

"You do?"

"Yes. I have met Mr. Lillienfield. He is a very poor public speaker with an unfortunate fondness for hyperbole. He would say things like: 'JOSHUA LYMAN, YOU ARE A CORRUPT AND DANGEROUS MAN AND A DANGER TO THE MORAL WELFARE OF OUR FAIR COUNTRY. I WILL BRING YOU DOWN, AND THE DANGEROUSLY CORRUPT GOVERNMENT DOWN WITH YOU'"

I leap away from her like a startled deer. Did she have to yell quite so loud? My poor heart is hammering like a drum.

"Well that was pretty bad"; I manage with a poor attempt at nonchalance.

"Yes", she agrees serenely, "I don't think he knows the meaning of the word 'synonym'".

She smiles.

"Was that a joke?"

"Yes."

I come to the conclusion that I am going to have to seriously revise my opinion of this woman. But I'm going to do it as far away from her as possible. I start backing towards the door.

"Well, I think this conversation is over now."

"You do?"

"Yes"

"Okay"

"Right"

I leave, not quite at the run, but pretty close. Unfortunately, it's a bit too fast for me to avoid a painful collision with a tall person standing outside the door.

"Ow!"

Why, oh why is everyone determined to leap out and accost me today? Did I inadvertently stick a 'Sucker' sign on my forehead this morning? I am yet again staggering around clutching my abused chest.

"Josh, are you all right?"

It's Sam, so I don't feel the need to be stoic.

"No." I think that comes out as a whimper. A wimpish whimper in fact. Damn. Sam must think I sound as bad as I feel because after casting a very suspicious look at Ainsley's half-open door, he grabs me by the upper arms and hustles me back up the corridor.

"What's the matter?" he hisses.

Well, the concern is very gratifying, but really, this is going a bit far…

"Other than the fact you just knocked the wind out of me with your elbow, you mean?"

He ignores me. He's too busy glaring back at Ainsley's office with his eyes narrowed and his jaw is clenched tightly in the way it gets when he's perturbed about something. He's also still clutching my arms and I'm struggling feebly to escape. Sam has a very strong grip; must be all that sailing.

"Would you let go of me?"

"What did she say to you?"

Oh Damn. Oh Hell. The IRS thing. The last thing I need today is Sam on a righteous crusade, or laughing his socks off, or both. Misdirection, I need misdirection…

"Why are you lurking outside Ainsley's office?"

Ha! Got him! A brief flash of alarm crosses his face and I take the opportunity to wrench myself from his grasp. I know I should run for it at this point but I can't resist the temptation to stay and watch him squirm.

"I wasn't. I was…it was…er"

Wonderful. Even bruised, staggering and depressed as I am, a day when I can't make Sam Seaborn suffer is a very bad day indeed.

"It was what?"

"It was…a thing…a thing that required a…a…lawyer."

"Oh, a lawyer thing?"

"Yes"

"Sam, I know that you're forgetful sometimes, but YOU are in fact a lawyer"

"Er…yes. I needed another one."

"A two lawyer job, then?

"Yes"

"Right. Well, I'll leave you to get on with it then. I have important things to do."

I straighten my crumpled sleeves and retreat in good order for once. Glancing back briefly, I see him standing forlornly in the corridor, obviously torn between following me or going to see his Republican siren. The siren-song must win out because for the rest of the trek back to my office, my jacket remains unassaulted. Which is just as well, because between Sam's hands and the weight of the world that's sitting on my shoulders, it's started to look a bit dented.

But my misery is destined to increase because Toby is sitting in my chair waiting for me. Leo. I forgot all about Leo. We are so screwed…

"What did Leo say?"

Toby actually flushes pink and my stomach lurches nastily in alarm.

"Toby?"

He squints and looks away, but before I can wrestle him to the floor and shake it out of him, he says

"My conversation with Leo was about a matter entirely unconnected with money and if you ask me one word about the conversation, I will flee this place forever and leave you to deal with the IRS on your own."

Ouch. Must have been a real Leo special.

"Okay"

"Okay. What did Ainsley say?"

I'm relieved that Leo still doesn't know (although he'll have to know eventually), but the world is still looking like a pretty miserable place at the moment.

"She's okay with it. She's gone to talk to the Nice guy."

"What nice guy?"

"No. Nice from the IRS."

"'No nice?' What is happening to your alleged superior verbal skills, Josh? Is he or isn't he?"

"Yes. He's Nice."

"A nice guy from the IRS? Isn't that an oxymoron?"

"No, his name is Nice"

"What's nice about his name?"

Agh! I can't believe I'm even having this conversation. The only thought I can keep in my head right now is, MUST HAVE COFFEE. While Toby's still puzzling over Mr. Nice's name, I reach for my coffee mug and…

It's gone.

My coffee mug is gone.

"My coffee mug is gone."

"What?"

"My coffee mug! I left it here when you dragged me away earlier, and now it's gone!"

"So?"

Doesn't he understand? This is important!

"It was my favourite coffee mug. It said 'Master Politician' on it in big letters. Donna gave it to me. She didn't put any coffee inside it of course, because she never gets me coffee, but she gave me the mug, so that must count for something, right? I always have it on my desk. And now it's gone!"

It is official. I have totally lost it. My brain is marshmallow.

And Toby is laughing at me.

Toby, my friend and colleague and theoretical co-conspirator in a plot to mis-lead the American public and defraud the IRS, is laughing at me.

He is so dead…

TBC

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



	2. The Rose Garden Conspiracy 2

Title: The Rose Garden Conspiracy part 2

Title: The Rose Garden Conspiracy part 2

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1] (Feedback means more to me than gold)

Rating: PG

Subject: Josh/Donna, Sam/Ainsley (sort-of, in a very twisted way…)

Spoilers: Five Votes Down/Season 2 up to and including The Leadership Breakfast

Disclaimer: All the characters herein are the legal property of NBC and Aaron Sorkin esq. Sue me not, fair Sirs, as my pockets are empty and I do but dally awhile with these fair mortals and will return them intact, anon.

Summary: A stolen memo, a meeting in the Rose Garden and the IRS. A mystery is afoot. Does it have something to do with Josh's missing coffee mug? And what is CJ hiding in her office? Why is Donna in Ainsley's cupboard with Sam? Just another 'normal' day at the West Wing…

Gratuitous Author's note: All rose names mentioned in this and any proceeding chapters are real. I know 'cos I looked them up. So there.

Part 2 - Donna POV

I can't believe I let Sam Seaborn talk me into this.

The next time this happens, and I deeply and sincerely hope that it never does, I'm just going to suffer the humiliating consequences - dignity and peace of mind be damned! Anything has to be better than lying on damp grass with a paranoid and childishly excited White House senior executive breathing in my ear.

Um…that sounded bad even to my ears.

To clarify. I Donna Moss, Deputy Deputy Chief of Staff, am at this moment hiding in the White House Rose Garden, spying on a Republican lawyer whom the Deputy Director of Communications suspects of stealing a potentially incriminating memo.

Oh Gods, that sounds even worse

I am also…ow, ow, ow, OW!…AGH!…Dammit. I am also being attacked by a very prickly and vicious specimen of the genus Rosaceae. According to the faded label on its stem that I can't help but notice as I attempt to untangle it from my hair, it rejoices in the name, 'Just Joey'.

Huh, figures.

And my day started so well…

I had bounded into the West Wing, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at precisely 7.17am. I was there ahead of Josh, as usual, but today it was deliberately planned. Why? Because today was going to be a new start, today a new and improved Donnatella Moss was going to emerge butterfly-like from the shell of her previous self. I was going to be serene and impervious. I was going to be efficient and witty. I was going to be fulfilled and happy and gomer-free. I was going to be…

Well, you get the point.

Suffice to say, I had a plan. It was a good plan. It was a healthy and wise plan. It was a Master Plan that was going to rejuvenate my life and set me free from…

Anyway, the PLAN had been formulated over three beers, a pint of Chunky Monkey and a conversation with my deeply cool girl-friend, Delilah. Not the most auspicious of starting points for a life-changing master plan, I'll grant you, but it was Delilah who inspired it, and Delilah was the most 'centred' person that I knew - which was why I had chosen her to advise me on my…little problem.

My 'little problem', little being the operative word, was that I seemed to have developed a small, nay tiny, even minuscule, crush on my boss Joshua Lyman. This crush was so minute as to be virtually non-existent, but it was disturbing me none the less. It was a pretty stupid thing for me to have done and I am not usually stupid. In fact, it almost made me wish that I had bothered to read the 'Handbook for the Modern Girl' that my Great-Aunt Letitia had bought me for my tenth birthday as that worthy publication no doubt covered such an eventuality in the chapter entitled, 'Things Which Are Not A Good Idea'.

But, of course, I had hidden the book in the deepest and darkest corner of my closet, which is no doubt why the ghost of Great-Aunt Letitia was cursing me from beyond the grave. It all started after Josh got shot and I spent 3 months caring for him. Letty's vengeful hand must have reached through from the after-life and twisted all my perfectly natural emotions of pity and empathy for a suffering fellow-human into some kind of bizarre reverse-Florence Nightingale Syndrome. I can only assume that when Josh was diagnosed with PTSD at Christmas, my sad state of delusion was further exacerbated by my response to his vulnerability combined with my deep-rooted lack of self-worth and desperate desire to be needed.

That's what Delilah said, at any rate. She is a very wise woman.

By the time I had reached the bottom of my second beer, I had worked myself up into an exaggerated state of despair over the whole business, which is when Delilah had come up with the PLAN. The details of the PLAN consisted of a very groovy concept called 'Offering-Up', which Delilah had discovered during a Women's Encounter Group session. 'Offering-Up' enables you to escape the tyranny of oppressive relationships and become a Free-Soul by writing down, and meditating on, all the positive and negative aspects of that relationship and then releasing them into the cosmos in a ritualistic fire.

Well, it had sounded good at 1.30 in the morning, anyway. Some of the finer points of the PLAN may have escaped me.

I must confess that when I reached work the next day, my inner-Rational Donna was cringing a little at my enthusiasm of the night before, but the PLAN at least had the virtue of being pro-active and I had to do something pretty quickly before my hold on sanity crumbled and I started inadvertently being nice to Josh or something equally disastrous. So, after my usual chores of checking and updating his schedule, I settled down with a fresh cup of coffee, a blank sheet of paper and a new pen and prepared myself to write a list. I am good at lists.

I had decided to start with 'positive' aspects, since I figured that 'negative' was easy and would only take me a couple of minutes, and besides, I didn't have enough pieces of paper. I took my new pen and wrote,

'Things I like about Joshua Lyman',

and underlined it carefully with a ruler. I thought for a moment, then wrote,

'I like that he hired me'.

The statement looked a bit strange and stark lying there on the page, but the list was for my eyes only after all and my self-respect balked at the idea of listing all the reasons why he shouldn't have hired me (i.e. My youth, my chutzpah, my relative lack of experience, my total lack of qualifications etc.)

'I like his ability to bring the banter'

Okay, that one didn't require an explanation either. It was turning out to be easier than I had thought.

'I like it when we walk and banter at the same time'

Hmm. I considered crossing that one out as being more about 'us' than 'him', but decided to leave it there in case I couldn't think of anything else to write.

"Morning, Donna"

Josh.

Ignoring the little flutter my stomach gave at the sound of his voice, on the grounds that it was probably the last time it would ever happen, I smoothly slid the list under my keyboard, out of sight, and said,

"Morning, Josh. You don't have Staff until 9 and Bishop cancelled your 8.15 because he has the flu."

He looked a trifle disconcerted, which was kind of cute.

"You mean I have nothing to do until 9 o'clock?"

"I'm not sure I'd characterise running the country as 'nothing', but what you will, and all that…"

"You know what I mean."

"Not often, fortunately"

He grunted at me, his ability to 'bring the banter' not at its best at 7.30 in the morning, and wandered off towards his office. I watched him, my hand poised to retrieve my list and I had to snatch it back again when he turned at the doorway and said,

"If I'm going to be stuck here all alone for over an hour, you could be a kind and understanding assistant and bring me coffee…"

"Only in your dreams, Lyman."

"Okay"

The door closed behind him, and I wrote,

'I like that he likes that I never bring him coffee'

Not a very felicitous sentence, as one of my College Professors would have said, but I could always type up the list later and run it through a grammar check. I could add bullet points.

"Watcha doing?"

I jumped as CJ loomed into my eye-line and my hand moved spasmodically thrusting the list under a pile of files. It was starting to look a little crumpled.

"Oh, Hi CJ"

That woman can move around as silently as a cat sometimes. It's kind of scary.

"Hi Donna. You okay?"

"Um…yeah, I'm fine. I'm er…doing stuff."

Nice save, Donna…

"I can see that." CJ said pleasantly before sashaying off to her office. She sees a bit too damn much for my liking sometimes. I watched her suspiciously for a moment in case she decided on a bit of taunting, but she never hesitated as she opened her door. As she did so, a faint, strange, rotten kind of smell wafted towards me. CJ must have noticed it too because she halted suddenly and looked worried.

I had opened my mouth to call out to her, when she made a sound that can only be described as a squeak, glanced around her furtively, dived into her office hurriedly and shut the door with a bang.

That was pretty weird behaviour, even for CJ, and I debated with myself for a moment if I should make my way over there and offer a bit of sisterly assistance for…whatever it was that made her squeak. However, Josh chose that moment to re-emerge from his office, 'Master Politician' coffee mug in hand, and I was forced to move some files around busily in an attempt to further conceal the half-hidden list.

"I'm off now to get my own coffee now, thus kindly and generously saving my busy assistant time and energy", he said proudly, waving his hand in the direction of the coffee machine.

"That's a good boy", I offered, encouragingly.

"I live, but to serve" he replied, and smiled.

Once he had retreated back to his office, I extracted the list, smoothed it with my hand, and wrote,

'I like his dimples'

Not bad. Short and to the point. The 'positives' were adding up nicely. I should be able to have a nice blaze going when I got home.

The next ten minutes passed quietly and in between legitimate tasks, I managed to add 'I like his passionate commitment to his job' and 'I like it when he leans against the wall' to my list. I had just finished writing, 'I liked the book on Alpine Skiing, but would have preferred it if he'd bought me skis', when I noticed Toby striding towards me and I was forced to hustle the list out of sight again. He looked pretty grim, even for him and there was a kind of tautness about his mouth that hinted at a larger demon that his usual brand of free-floating frustration with the stupidity of the world.

He stared at a point over my left shoulder and muttered tersely,

"Is Josh in?"

"Yes"

"Okay"

He took a deep breath as if preparing himself for a dive into deep water and half-heartedly straightening his shoulders, went into Josh's office. I started at the closed door for a moment, then lifted up some files, unwrinkled my list and wrote,

'I like that Josh's friends feel they can come to him in times of trouble'

I chewed on the end of my pen thoughtfully and added,

'as long as they don't upset him'

I wondered for a moment if that qualifier wasn't a bit too revealing of my feelings, but decided that my concern was a very natural one for an assistant to have for her boss. I was all right to care for your boss, wasn't it? It's just that I wasn't convinced of his ability to cope with any more stress at the moment and he was so good at hiding his problems, that perhaps his friends didn't realise quite how vulnerable he was.

In other words, I was racking my brains to come up with a way to get into that office and find out what was going on with Toby. As a good, efficient and caring assistant should, I mean, it was practically part of my job description.

My guardian angel must have heard my thoughts because about 15 minutes later, Congressman Wick telephoned demanding to speak to Josh. I put him on hold and practically leapt for the office hoping that there was nothing ominous going on behind the closed door.

Toby and Josh were staring at each other without saying a word. Toby looked depressed and Josh…well, let's just say that I've seen road kill look less stunned than he did at that moment. I played my efficient, yet ditzy assistant role to the hilt, pretending I hadn't noticed the 'atmosphere', but when Josh shouted at me about the coffee thing, I was hard pressed to keep a bland expression on my face. There is no doubt that Josh is a shouter, but mostly he does it for effect; his yell of 'NOT ENOUGH!' was involuntary and the sound made my heart sink to my shoes.

He immediately looked sorry for it, but before I could formulate any sort of response, Toby had dragged him away. Josh looked stressed and confused by Toby's actions, which to my mind was not a good combination. He hadn't been stressed and confused before Toby spoke to him, I knew that much, so once I had fobbed off Wick with a half-promise of seeing Josh later in the day, I zipped off to pump Ginger for the inside story on her boss.

Primed with a chocolate doughnut, Ginger was more that willing to gossip, but she actually knew only a little more that I did – that Toby had received a phone call (an internal one, she had guessed, by listening to the ring tone), and had spent the next five minutes swearing quietly at thin air. She had no idea who had spoken to him or what it was all about. I was disappointed in Ginger; she is usually the best assistant-spy among us.

So, a doughnut poorer and none the wiser, I wondered back to my desk resolving to add, 'I like that he tells me important things' to my Josh list. It was a testament to my state of mind that it took me a good five minutes of shifting files about before the truth finally dawned: the list was gone.

My 'Things I like about Joshua Lyman' list was gone.

GONE, I tell you.

A hideous thought occurred to me: if it wasn't where I left it, where was it? And more importantly: HAD ANYONE SEEN IT!?

AGH!

The next five minutes passed in a hideous blur as I frantically went through every file on my desk in a positive blizzard of paper. I was practically hyperventilating with anxiety and I think that I was whispering 'no, no, no…' under my breath like a very demented person. I kept on searching, but the icy pit in my stomach was telling me that I wasn't going to find it on my desk anytime soon. I knew exactly where I had left it and there it was left no longer.

I felt the slow burn of impending humiliation on my cheeks as I changed tack, ignoring the files scattered around my desk like confetti, and retraced my steps from the last ten minutes. I might have inadvertently picked it up and dropped it, it could be anywhere around the bullpen, lying around in plain view for anyone to read. They could have all read it ALREADY!

I wasn't sure who I meant by 'they', but my mind was in such a state of panicked dementia, that I was more than ready to burn down the entire White House rather than let anyone get the slightest passing glance at what I had written down. As I skirted around furtively, garnering some pretty strange looks, I was relieved to find that no-one appeared to be smirking or sniggering, but that was small consolation for the nasty jolt I received when another thought occurred to me.

If I'd left the list on my desk as I had first thought, and hadn't dropped it anywhere, how could it be missing? Unless…somebody took it. Deliberately.

I felt quite sick and dizzy and was forced to lean against the wall next to Josh's office door. Nobody was standing around waving a bit of paper and laughing, so it was a pretty good bet that the joker who had taken it was keeping the information quiet. For the moment. I think that I even let out a groan of despair, at the knowledge that somebody, whether friend or foe (and I wasn't sure which was worse), had evidence of my sad and delusional state of mind in their hands. My inner thoughts were in someone's possession.

Ick. Nasty thought.

I could think of no good result from this at all. The repercussions could be fairly mild, such as months of humiliating verbal torture. But if someone who didn't like Josh got hold of it? If my poor innocent little list was seen in different light? Well, it would not just damage me, it would damage him.

For a moment, I almost succumbed to the stress of the last ten minutes and started to cry, but I retained enough strength of mind to stagger off towards the rest rooms. My 'no, no, no…' mantra had become 'stupid, stupid, stupid…' with the occasional 'idoit!' thrown in for variety. I had to stop and bang my head against the wall of the corridor a couple of times just to stop it from exploding from the effort of surpressing the screams. Even if no-one had taken it after all, or it was simply lost, I knew that I would never have peace of mind again. It would be out there somewhere. Ticking like a bomb.

I slapped the palms of my hands against the wall, banged my forehead against it a couple more times, just for good measure, and resolved that I would never, ever again listen to Delilah's advice. I would never, ever write another list. No, scratch that, I would never, ever WRITE anything again. In fact, I was going to lift my head up in a minute and find every single pen and pencil in the White House and burn them to a crisp in the nearest fireplace.

Except the fireplaces were all sealed.

AGH! (Bang, bang, bang…)

"Donna? Donna! Are you all right? What's the matter?"

I stopped banging my head against the wall, but stayed where I was because I recognised the voice.

Sam Seaborn.

I knew that I probably looked a bit of a wreck and Sam is pretty good at reading people. In fact, he's very good at it. If pushed, I would have to say that he is a kind, caring and sensitive man (except when he's being stupid or anally retentive), which is why I didn't want him seeing my face. He is also a blabbermouth of the first order.

I felt his hand against my back and a shadow fell across my face as he tried to peer more closely at me. I shook my head slightly so that my hair hid my expression better.

"Donna?"

"Nothing's wrong, I'm fine!", I said, as brightly as I could muster.

"Oh. So the head-banging thing was for fun?"

"Yep"

"Well, far be it for me to judge, but I suspect you're not telling me the truth on that one."

Go to the top of the class, Mr. Seaborn

"Is it something to do with…Josh?"

What? Why would he ask that?

I needed to see his face, because his voice had not held the low-level murmur of amusement that it usually did. I turned my head rather abruptly and he jumped back, startled. As I had thought, he looked rather more concerned than my admittedly strange behaviour would warrant. I really, really wanted to ask him why he assumed this was about Josh, but I didn't want to let anything slip about my little 'problem', either.

Unfortunately, he was silent. There is a very uncomfortable quality to Sam's silences that I had noticed before; people usually babbled at him in an attempt to fill up the void before it dragged them in. He was a kind of human vacuum-powered mind-sucker or something. It worked on me, at any rate because words seemed to be coming out of my mouth without my brain getting involved.

"I lost something." I muttered.

He frowned, "Is it Josh?", he repeated.

I puzzled over that one. Why would I lose Josh?

"I don't carry him around in my pocket, you know." I said, rather offended by the implication.

"Who?" He was still frowning, but puzzled too.

"Josh"

"What about Josh?"

"About Josh being lost."

Honestly, sometimes he has the attention span of a five-year-old.

"You've lost me"

"Oh, I've lost you too now have I? Aren't I Miss Careless today? I'll have lost the White House by the end of the afternoon if I'm not careful."

Bitter sarcasm probably wasn't the best mode to have employed just then, because Sam started to look rather alarmed.

"I don't know what you're talking about Donna, but I'm assuming it has something to do with Josh?"

Damn. When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?

"I saw Josh ten minutes ago", he added, in a kind voice, as though he was worried that I'd start fretting over my apparent inability to keep tabs on the third most powerful man in the country at all times. Not that his news wasn't welcome…

"You did?"

"Yes"

"Where?"

His face darkened, and I'll swear that he was grinding his teeth

"Outside Ainsley's office"

He said her name as though it was something nasty he'd picked up on the bottom of his shoe whilst strolling on the sidewalk. Previous observation of Sam had not led me to believe that he could employ that tone of voice when referring to the Fair Republican, so something was most definitely UP.

"Why was he in Ainsley's office?"  


He had been staring at me intently, but when I asked this question, his face fell in disappointment.

"I was hoping you would know"

I couldn't imagine how on earth Ainsley factored into the strangeness going on this morning.

"Why? What happened?"

His face darkened further and he stared at his feet as though uncertain whether or not to say anything. Eventually, he said slowly,

"I don't know, exactly, but I overheard her shouting at him."

"Ainsley was shouting?"

Sam looked quite unhappy.

"Yes"

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What was she shouting?"

"Some…not very nice things"

"What not very nice things?"

"She…threatened him."

He was practically mumbling and I had to resist the urge to shake the story out of him. I couldn't wrap my brain around the image of Ainsley Hayes, Republican Poster Girl, threatening the Deputy Chief of Staff.

"Sam, you're killing me here. What did she say?"

He sighed, and said reluctantly,

"She said that he was a corrupt and dangerous man, and she was going to bring him down."

"WHAT?!"

While I was still reeling from this unexpected development, Sam had found his voice.

"It was horrible, Donna!", he cried, pacing up and down outside the women's toilet. "I had no idea what she thought…I mean, how could she…? I thought I knew…Why did she…? I mean, I knew she didn't really like him, but…"

"SAM! Stop talking and calm down. I don't understand! Ainsley doesn't like Josh? Why don't I know this?"

I wanted to cry, 'How can she not like Josh?', but I managed to bite my tongue on that one.

He stopped pacing, and cringed slightly.

"I guess he didn't tell you", he said cryptically

"Tell me what?"  


"What happened when they first met"

"Josh and Ainsley?"

"Yeah"

"Well?"

"Well what?"

I ground my teeth together so hard, my jawed ached.

"What. Happened?"

Sam looked at me sadly and told me the story.

"Josh had just come back to work after…you know, and he came into the room as I was talking to Ainsley. He was very polite and friendly, so it wasn't something that he did, or anything, but she started talking about how wrong the Gun Bill was and how we shouldn't legislate against people owning weapons…"

He trailed off at my look of horror.

"She did WHAT? In front of him?"

"Yeah."

"What did Josh do?"

"Nothing, really. He just got tense and quiet. But the way he looked at me…"

I could well imagine. I was thinking, 'How could she?' I mean, I don't know her all that well, but she seemed like a decent person, for a Republican, and I'd never dreamed she could be guilty of such insensitivity. However, to be fair, I did think that maybe Sam was jumping to conclusions.

"Much as it pains me to say this, Sam, what she said then doesn't mean that she dislikes him. Besides, even if she did, why on earth would she threaten him? And more importantly, what on earth could she possibly have to threaten him with?"

As I said this, a terrible, paralysing thought entered my brain and refused to be budged.

NO!

Surely not…

There hasn't been enough time, has there? How long ago did the list go missing? Had Ainsley even been there while I was talking to Ginger? Could it have been someone else? Was it just a ghastly coincidence?

"Sam?"

"What? What?"

He must have been alarmed at the strangled note in my voice.

"That thing I lost…"

"You lost something?"

Oh. Perhaps he hadn't heard me the first time.

"Yes, I lost something, which was why I was banging my head against the wall."

"O-kay. With you so far. What does it have to do with Ainsley?"

"Well, the thing I lost, I might not have lost it after all"

"So you haven't lost anything?"

"YES! But I'm thinking that it may have been…well, stolen"

Sam turned a bit pale at my words, possibly he was catching up with me.

"What was it?" he said, hoarsely.

I closed my eyes and swallowed. Perhaps a half-truth would do it…

"It was a piece of paper…a memo! yes, a memo. It was about Josh."

"A memo about Josh was STOLEN?"

Well, when he put it like that, it sounded pretty bad, and he didn't even know what was in the 'memo'. He certainly wasn't going to find out from me.

"What was in the memo?"

This was spiralling way out of control. I could feel words crowding into my throat, but I resolutely clamped my lips shut and shook my head frantically at him instead.

He narrowed his eyes.

"Does that mean you don't know, or you can't say?"

I nodded my head.

"Which one? You can't say?"

Again with the nod.

He started pacing again, but his stride had a different quality to it this time. He looked like Hercule Poirot exercising those little grey cells, or…yes. If I squinted at a certain angle and mentally added a pipe and deerstalker, he could have been Sherlock Holmes. Or I might just have been hallucinating.

"Was this memo about Josh, confidential?"

Oh, my yes.

I nodded.

"Was it", he paused and swallowed in mid-stride, "Could it potentially be damaging?"

Could it? In the right hands, it could damage him, maybe.

Nod, nod. It was like playing twenty questions.

"Was it…personal?"

My neck was starting to ache.

"Yes"

I could see Sam's brain going at top speed, probably going through every icky detail of Josh's personal life that he could dredge up. Goodness knows what conclusions he came to, because he visibly winced a couple of times. Eventually he said.

"Do you think that Ainsley has the memo?"

I noticed that he refrained from saying that Ainsley may have 'stolen' the memo. It all seemed a little far-fetched, but what did I know? I shrugged helplessly.

"We can't take the chance…", Sam began, then suddenly galvanising himself, grabbed my arm and took off at a run for the stairs to the basement.

This action was so unexpected, that I almost got whiplash in my attempt to stay on my feet. My ankles ached as I wobbled after him on my heels.

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to search Ainsley's office"

"What!? Are you mad?"

We hit the staircase and I grabbed the banister and half-slid, half-fell down the steps in his wake. Sam Seaborn has very long legs.

"Sam! We can't do this!"

"Look, in all likelihood, we're way off base with this, but we can't take the chance. We're going to find out the truth because I won't let my friend be treated this way by puffed-up, arrogant Republican."

Wow, he sounded really determined. It was kind of sexy, actually.

We stumbled through a door and headed down the corridor.

"But, I'm sure that Ainsley isn't…", I paused to catch my breath as Sam continued to accelerate.

"I don't know what Ainsley is. I don't know what she's up to. But she's up to something, and I'm going to find out what it is, even if I have to beat it out of her!"

Ye Gods. Did he just say what I thought he said? Talk about subtext…

We were approaching Ainsley's door and I was getting seriously out of breath.

"Sam, why are we running?"

He halted abruptly and I had to skid to a stop to prevent myself from crashing into his back. Unfortunately, my three-inch heels weren't designed for skidding and I tottered, overbalanced and fell. I grabbed Sam around the knees as I went down as I really didn't want carpet burns on my nose on top of everything else. He sagged slightly under my weight, and let out a quiet "Oomph!", but managed to stay upright.

"What?" I managed, my mouth muffled by the cloth of his pants.

I heard a door open, and he leapt for the shadows at the edge of the hallway. Still clinging to his legs, I was dragged sideways, managed to roll slightly and ended up half-sitting with my head against the side of his leg. Floundering like a fish in a bucket, I tried to find purchase on the painted wall and hissed,

"Sam, for God's sake! What's going on?"

  
"Quiet!" he hissed back. "Ainsley just left her office. Give her a minute and we'll follow her,"  


"What? NO!"

But, he was off again. My head, deprived of its support, succumbed to gravity, but I managed to twist my upper body and landed heavily on my shoulder. I caught a brief glimpse of Sam trying to sidle along the wall surreptitiously and gritting my teeth in pain and an ardent desire to smash his face in the nearest photocopier, I rolled again, untangled my legs, crawled a few yards and finally dragged myself to my feet, the shreds of my dignity flapping behind me like ticker-tape.

Doggedly, I limped after him. I was no longer sure exactly why we were doing this, but was becoming seriously motivated by a need to catch up to him and hurt him badly. This determination kept me going through a couple of hundred yards of hallway and another flight of stairs, but by the time I finally caught him, lurking by an external door, I was too tired and demoralised to do anything more than punch him feebly in the arm.

He ignored me, too intent on opening the door a chink and peering outside.

"Where's she going?" I panted resignedly; "I don't even know where we are anymore."

He turned to face me, his mouth open in surprise.

"She's in the Rose Garden"

  
"What? Why is she in the Rose Garden?"

"How the hell should I know?" he said, sticking his head out of the door again.

"Wait a minute…"  


"What?"

"There's someone else there. A man."

"What man?"

"Don't know, I've never seen him before. He's got a briefcase. We need to hear them…"

Oh God.

"Sam…"

I put my hand on his shoulder in an attempt to hold him back, when he hit the deck suddenly and started crawling. My faithful friend, Gravity, nudged me playfully and I was forced to fall through the door onto my knees and follow Sam by sheer default. I'll swear he was enjoying himself.

That's pretty much how I ended up lying on wet grass next to the Deputy Communications Director with a rose bush called Joey pulling my hair out by the roots.

I say again, 'AGH!'

I've finally separated my blonde tresses from Joey's prickly tendrils and I'm trying to crane my neck around the cursed shrub to catch a glimpse of the action. Sam's practically wriggling in excitement and I just know he's aching to get closer. Unfortunately, although the concept of a Rose Garden sounds pretty, at the beginning of February in Washington DC, rose bushes are not going to be heading the list on anyone's 'Must Get' list. Sam and I are trying to remain unseen behind a collection of thorny twigs, so attempting to get closer to Ainsley and the mystery man is a big no-no at the moment. In fact, the only cover we're getting at all is being provided by a handy box-hedge which, incidentally, smells of cat's pee.

I'm beginning to seriously question Jackie Kennedy's sense of style.

However, my ponderings on herbaceous borders are halted when I finally make out exactly what Ainsley is doing. She has a piece of paper in her hand. A white piece of paper. She's giving it to the SWB (Stranger With Briefcase), he's looking at it, and…Oh my God…he's LAUGHING.

Beside me, Sam has gone very still.

"Is that…?" he hisses in my ear

"I don't know. I can't tell from here."

The tension is killing me. In fact, if that does turn out to be my list I may as well throw myself bodily onto Joey-the-evil-rose and let her finish the job.

The SWB is now opening his briefcase and (shudder) putting the piece of paper inside. He takes out what looks like a file and hands it to Ainsley. She's opening it…looking inside…Oh Hell, now SHE'S laughing! What is this? The Let's-bring-down-the-government-and-have-a-laugh-while-we're-doing-it-Club?

Sam has started quivering with tension. His face looks appallingly grim and he's muttering under his breath. I can just about catch the words,

"…evil witch…fiend from hell…Mata Hari…femme fatale…" and just about every other vile clichéd epithet that he can lay his hands on.

I think I'm beginning to have an inkling of why Sam is letting this bother him so much.

As I'm straining my ears in a vain attempt to hear the apparently amusing conversation going on across the lawn, Sam touches my shoulder and hisses,

"Let's get out of here."

What? We just got here…

"Why?" I hiss back.

"Because we can't hear them anyway, and I still want to search Ainsley's office."

Who the hell does he think he is? One of the Hardy boys?

But before I can halt his madness (and disclaim any resemblance to Nancy Drew), he's wriggling on his elbows back towards the White House in a pathetic imitation of a Commando. I decide that I would rather go back to Dr. Freeride than make myself look that stupid, so I throw caution to the wind, stand up, and run for the open door.

I hear a muffled exclamation from him as I sprint past, but I don't stop until I'm back in the hallway. Sam bursts through, seconds after me (Ha! So much for the crawling thing), and yells,

"What the hell do you think you're doing? We could have been seen!"

"Don't be stupid Sam, they were too busy giggling like maniacs to see much of anything. Let's just get on with it, already, so I can go back to banging my head against the wall"

He looks like he wants to argue with me, but obviously (and wisely) decides against it. Instead, he turns and heads back up the stairs.

Looking sadly at my tattered pantyhose and grass-stained knees, I trail him back to Ainsley's office. When I get there, he's already started going through the files on top of the filing cabinet. I can only shudder at the number of Privacy Laws he's breaking right now.

"Take the desk" he says tersely

I comply, but only because he's like a dog with bone and I'm too tired to protest. It's not worth it in any case, because after five minutes of rifling, all I've turned up is a half-eaten cream cheese bagel, a box of pecan cookies, half a dozen double chocolate muffins and a packet of Cheerios and can only conclude that Ainsley must be some kind of mutant life-form.

"Have you found anything?" I ask him dispiritedly.

"No, but I…"

He trails off and his face goes pale. I can feel the blood drain from mine as well, because I can hear what he does. Footsteps. From the direction of the Rose Garden.

  
"Quick" he whispers frantically.

Fast as a snake, he grabs my hand and…stops.

"What do we do? What do we do?"

Honestly, I always knew it was Nancy who was the brains of the outfit. I cast around swiftly, then pull him towards the cupboard on the right-hand wall of the office. We throw ourselves inside.

Ow, ow, ow and ow again. There's not enough room in this cupboard for a small child, let alone two fairly tall adults. There must be half a dozen shelves in here, most of which are poking into various soft parts of my anatomy. Sam is standing in front of me, but there's not enough room left for the door to close as Ainsley's coat is hanging on the back of it. I'm forced to wedge my backside between the shelves and wrap my arms about his neck to bring him in closer; from that position, I can just about manage to reach around his back and wrap my fingers around the edge of Ainsley's coat. I pull. We're in.

Well, this is embarrassing. Sam is an attractive man and all that, but I honestly never expected (or wanted) to find myself in such close proximity to him. I'm sure he's as uncomfortable as I am because he keeps tensing up and trying to create some distance (an impossible task) even though we can both hear Ainsley moving about in her office. I will admit though, he smells quite nice. Sort of fresh and grassy.

I almost yelp in protest however, when Sam jerks quite suddenly, then goes as still as a Mummy.

Voices.

There is someone else in Ainsley's office.

It's Josh.

So help me Father for I have sinned…

I hide my face in Sam's shoulder to stifle a groan, just as my fingers slip from their hold on Ainsley's coat, and the door swings slowly open…

TBC

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



	3. The Rose Garden Conspiracy 3

Title: The Rose Garden Conspiracy part 3

Title: The Rose Garden Conspiracy part 3

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1] (Feedback means more to me than gold)

Rating: PG mostly. A couple of scenes verging on PG-13

Subject: Josh/Donna, Sam/Ainsley (sort-of, in a very twisted way…)

Spoilers: Five Votes Down/Season 2 up to and including The Leadership Breakfast

Disclaimer: All the characters herein are the legal property of NBC and Aaron Sorkin esq. Sue me not, fair Sirs, as my pockets are empty and I do but dally awhile with these fair mortals and will return them intact, anon.

Summary: A stolen memo, a meeting in the Rose Garden and the IRS. A mystery is afoot. Does it have something to do with Josh's missing coffee mug? And what is CJ hiding in her office? Why is Donna in Ainsley's cupboard with Sam? Just another 'normal' day at the West Wing…

Another gratuitous Author's note: Having established that I know nothing about the IRS or roses, I feel that I must also confess my ignorance of the geography of the White House. But you probably already guessed that ;-)

Part 3 - Josh POV

I have officially added the name Samuel Norman Seaborn to my hit list.

In fact, he's gone straight to first place. Pole Position. Numero Uno. Top Dog. Congratulations my soon to be ex-best friend, you have finally out shone Toby Ziegler.

I cannot believe what I am seeing. My stomach is aching as though I've just been sucker-punched. I want to shout and scream and stamp, but all I manage to say is,

"Sam! You…you…you Cad!"

Yes, Josh Lyman's life has just become a bad melodrama.

Ainsley, who has been staring at the disgusting tableau in her cupboard with horrified fascination, turns to me in disbelief. I know, I can't believe I just said that either. My friend Sam Seaborn is in a cupboard with the arms (and legs) of my assistant Donna Moss wrapped tightly around him; there is no possible angle that exists from which this does not look compromising, and I just called him a Cad.

Way to go, Lyman! All I have to do now is curl my lip, shout; 'Unhand her, Villain!' throw my gauntlet to the ground and demand satisfaction. Pistols at dawn on the White House lawn…

Ainsley starts to giggle, a surprisingly girlish sound, but my eyes remain glued to the scene in the cupboard. Donna has raised her head from Sam's shoulder and her eyes are riveted to mine like a rabbit caught in headlights.

I want to say,

Donna, what are you doing? 

Or,

Donna, why are you doing this?

Even,

Donna, what are you trying to do to me?

But I don't. I just keep on staring. Why does the world feel like it's just come to an end and nobody bothered to warn me?

Donnatella…

And to think that almost an hour ago, all I had lost was my job and my coffee mug. Why does this feel worse? Almost an hour ago, I yelled out her name and she didn't answer. I suppose I should have guessed there was something going on…

{45 minutes earlier…}

"DONNA!"

"For God's sake, Josh, get an intercom system or something. You sound like Heathcliff."

"That was Cathy, Toby, not Donna"

"So? The analogy still stands"

"…I mean, do I look anything like Heathcliff to you? Do I have a swarthy complexion and bad eyebrows? Am I standing on a blasted moor?"

"A what, moor?"

"Blasted"

"That's what I thought you said. Is it even a word?"

"Don't you read books, Toby? It means windswept."  


"Well why didn't you say windswept?"

"Because 'blasted' is more…poetic"

"You think 'blasted' sounds poetic? Sure, why not, you probably think Roy Liechtenstein is a great artist…"

"Well the Pop Art thing was quite cool…"

"The Pop Art movement was an ironic oversimplification of popular cultural imagery, which only served to demonstrate the banality of…"

"Shut up!"

"You're missing out on an important part of your education here. Let me finish…"

"TOBY! Shut up, you're driving me crazy."

"Well that shouldn't be hard."

Silence.

More silence.

"Sorry"

"Okay"

It is okay, really. I know what just happened; we were trying to distract ourselves from the impending financial scandal. At least, I know Toby was, I was also trying to forget the mystery of my missing coffee mug, which for some reason was looming large in my mind.

"Toby?"

"Yeah"

He still looked uncomfortable, embarrassed and plain worried, and I decided to let him off the hook.

"We'll forget the last five minutes ever happened"

"Okay"

"I have to…go find Donna now"

"Okay"

I left my office - and received yet another nasty jolt. I had been weighed down by doom when I'd come back from my meeting with Ainsley, so I hadn't noticed at the time, but Donna wasn't there and her desk was a disaster area. I stared in disbelief at the files and folders scattered on the floor around her desk, their contents spilling in every direction. Donna is the neatest person I know, there is no way she would have left her domain looking like the paper equivalent of a multiple freeway pile-up.

What the hell happened?

In a somewhat bemused manner, I half-heartedly poked through the fallen papers as though I thought Donna would be found buried beneath them, or something. I didn't find Donna, I found something else - a dark-brownish stain on the carpet.

Time stood still. I had to remind myself to breathe before the spots started appearing before my eyes. Before I could start thinking again, I found myself on my knees poking gingerly at the stain with my finger. It was cold and damp and smelled of…coffee.

Coffee!

"Josh, what on God's earth are you doing now?"

"Toby, have you seen Donna?"

"Are you okay?"

I must have sounded a bit strange. I hadn't really thought that Donna had been attacked at her desk, stabbed, and dragged away in full view of the dozens of people milling about the bullpen, but then my nervous system was not exactly behaving in a rational manner either. As it was, my brain was whirling in confusion at the clues surrounding me that were adding up to one huge enigma.

"Toby, when was the last time you saw Donna?

"Well, you should know Josh, you were there with me."

"Oh, okay. It's just, this is all a bit weird, you know?"

"What, you crawling around your assistant's desk? I would classify that as weird, yes."

I struggled to my feet, flushing slightly.

"I was looking for clues to Donna's whereabouts," I said, with a fair approximation of dignity.

Toby looked as though he was trying not to laugh again.

"I can understand her wanting to hide from you, Josh - she is a very intelligent woman, but I doubt she's attempting to do it under a couple of bits of paper."

"Shut up, Toby and listen a moment. Firstly, my coffee mug is missing. Secondly, Donna is missing and her desk is in a terrible mess, and lastly, there is a large coffee stain on the carpet. What does that tell you?"

"It tells me that you are obsessing about trivialities because you want to avoid thinking about the fact that we may both be out of a job tomorrow"

Well, he wasn't wrong, but there was no way I was going to tell him that.

"I am not obsessing, I do not obsess. You are confusing me with Donna who takes obsessiveness to the heights of absurdity - which is why she would never have left her desk in such a state."

"You know what, Josh? I really don't care, but if you want an explanation, I'll give you one."

He put his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes like a bearded Hercule Poirot.

"Using my keen deductive powers, I suspect that one of your fan-club, crazed with desire, broke away from the White House Tour and made for your office, panting with lust. Devastated to find you gone, she spied your coffee mug and knowing that it had once touched your sacred lips, stole it as a centre-piece for her Joshua Lyman shrine…"

"Toby…"

"Quiet, let me finish. Departing your office with reluctance, she encountered Donna, who was returning from a crucial errand. Your assistant, desperate to protect the sanctity of your personal belongings, leapt for the delusional stalker and a great battle ensued which resulted in much spilling of coffee and dropping of papers…"

"Toby…"

"Shh, I'm almost through. Wrenching the disputed coffee mug from Donna's grasping hands, the fan dodged past the horrified bystanders and ran deep into the heart of the White House, hotly pursued. They are even now, the hunter and the hunted, engaged in a deadly battle of wits, which can only result in the death of one, or both, and the breaking of the coffee mug."

"Have you finished now?"

"Yes"

"Do you know how much I hate you right at this moment?"

"I have a fair idea, yes"

"Well, good"

"Fine"

What can I say? Playing the straight man to Toby 'Funny Man' Ziegler is a lot like riding a galloping camel across the desert - you've got to hold on until the bitter end, or your journey home will be a lot slower and more painful that you ever imagined.

Talking of pain, it was at that point that Toby, his brief and frankly creepy descent into ponderous humour over, reminded me that we had Senior Staff in five minutes and the revelations of the morning and their potential consequences came crashing back into my mind. On our way to Leo's office, Toby and I reached a consensus that we would keep quiet about the IRS thing until we heard back from Ainsley, so that the whole affair could be presented to Leo as a fait accompli (or fate accompli). Might as well get all of the painful parts over with at the same time.

As it happened, everybody was far too distracted at the meeting to notice my abstraction, or Toby's glummer-than-usual face. CJ was uncharacteristically quiet and looked as if she would rather be anywhere than where she was. She also kept fidgeting and fiddling with her hair; something she only does when she's anxious. I wondered briefly if it had anything to do with her strange behaviour earlier but before I could ask her, Leo said crossly,

"Where's Sam?"

It was a testament to my state of mind that I hadn't even noticed his absence. A brief glance at the clock on the far wall told me that he was already five minutes late - something unheard of from Sam 'all-my-ducks-in-line' Seaborn. Toby's glummer-than-usual face approached the event horizon of glumness at the news of his Deputy's tardiness and I could tell that he was trying hard not to leap up to find Sam and drag him to the meeting by his ear. 

Five more minutes of routine business passed until the non-appearance of Skippy finally broke the never very secure hold Leo kept on his temper and we were treated to a tirade of ear-wincing proportions which combined observations on the unprofessionalism of youth, the urgent need to brief his missing speech-writer on some GDC thing before the ozone layer finally gave up the ghost, and something to do with the President and a defence system, which frankly I couldn't follow and soon gave up trying. I was comforting myself with the thought that having refrained from spilling the beans about where I had last seen Sam lurking, I now had something I could use against him; blackmail material naturally being a cornerstone of friendship between men.

Leo finally threw us all out and Toby dashed off immediately to track down his errant whipping boy. I was wandering if it was too soon to find out my dreadful fate from Ainsley, or if she was still meeting with Mr. Not-Nice, when CJ grabbed my arm,

"Josh, wait up, I want to ask you something."

"Hey, Claudia Jean, ask away"

"Can you give me a matchbox?"

"I could of course give you a matchbox, but that would necessitate me going out to buy one, which I am sure you are more that capable of doing yourself"

She looked rather surprised at my answer, which is only fair, as I had been rather surprised at her question.

"I could, but I was hoping you would save me the trouble by giving me one of yours."  


"Are you under the impression that I carry a quantity of matchboxes with me wherever I go?"

"So you don't have a matchbox?"

"No"

"Are you sure?"

I love CJ, but sometimes her thought processes leave me high and dry in Confusion Bay. Must be the altitude.

"I'm pretty sure, unless I forgot myself and purchased a box from the Little Match Girl on the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue on my way to work this morning."

"But, I thought you had some a few days ago when you lit that fire."

Ah. The fire thing. Should have known that it would haunt me.

"Those were Sam's matches"

They weren't, but I was collecting early on the payback. Let him be confused by CJ for a while and see how he liked it.

"Oh. So no matchbox."

"No. But don't worry mi amora, you already have my love to keep you warm"  


I managed to coax a smile from her harassed face, but she kept on with the match thing.

"Do you know anyone around here who does have a matchbox? Other than Sam, obviously, as he's MIA"

"CJ, as interesting as this conversation is, I am a touch confused on one point; why exactly do you need a matchbox? Are you planning a little arson?"

"No! I don't want the matches, just the box"

"Why?"

She looked baffled as though she hadn't anticipated having to answer that question.

"Well…er…matchboxes are very useful for…um…putting things in"

"What things?"  


"Small things"

"Like what?"

"Er…matches?"

"Let me get this straight. You have some matches and now you want a box to put them in?"

"I don't have matches"

"You don't?"

"No. Why would I have matches?"

I briefly considered the therapeutic value of pulling my hair out by the roots, but decided to plunge on with the (marginally) less painful option.

"Well, I don't know. Why don't you tell me CJ? I mean, you seem to want a box badly enough"

She closed her eyes, attempting to regroup, and said with more coherence.

"I need a matchbox because it's the right size and shape."  


"For what?"

"For…what I want to put in it"

"Which is?"

"None of your business"

And I said, as I am not above reusing a good line when I need it,

"So this whole conversation has been a colossal waste of time and money"

CJ shrugged and at least had the grace to look slightly apologetic.

"So it would seem"

"Okay"

"Fine"

I hitched a thumb over my shoulder,

"Well, I have to go now and do something more important"

"Okay"

She flapped her hand at me and wandered back towards her office. I watched her tall figure for a moment and wondered if perhaps I shouldn't have probed a little deeper to find out what was really going on as opposed to what she chose to tell me, when she stopped suddenly and turned back.

  
"Josh?"

"Yes?"  


"Do you have a spade?"

"Why…?" I began, then stopped with a shudder. Life was short and would rapidly get shorter if I attempted another conversation with CJ with her in this frame of mind.

"Goodbye Claudia Jean" I said pointedly and left as quickly as possible before she could ask me for carpet tacks or a bottle of rat poison. Why couldn't she go to the hardware store like normal people?

I trudged off back towards Ainsley's office contemplating all of the unanswered questions I seemed to have accrued in the mere two hours I had been at work. Like, did I still have a job? Would I go to jail? Where was Donna? Where, for that matter, was Sam? What was up with CJ? Why was everybody out to get me? Why did I bother getting out of bed this morning? As deeply upsetting as these questions were, there was also, deep inside of me, a small puddle of disappointment that my plans for the day had been ruined.

Plans? Well, one plan anyway. Today was the day, I had decided, that I was going to ask my assistant, Donna Moss if she would come to dinner with me after work. And I was even going to ask her in such a way that she wouldn't be obliged to say yes, in a Boss-Assistant kind of way. I was even not going to mention work-related matters as an excuse for some quality time with the Wisconsin Dairy Queen. And if she didn't run screaming from me in horror, I might have even suggested that we do it again in the not too distant future. 

Not a date, because that would be unprofessional behaviour from a Deputy Chief of Staff, more of a social meeting for two private individuals in a potential state of 'like'. At least, I hoped that Donna was in a state of like (and I suspected that she was) because I had slowly been coming to the conclusion that she was kind of important to me. That I needed her, even. Actually, if I'm going to be honest for once, somewhere along the line she had become as necessary to me as breathing.

It wasn't as if I was going to plunge straight in and suggest that we perform the horizontal Rumba, because quite apart from the hideous complications that could ensue (in the White House, I mean), I didn't think we were ready for that sort of thing.

(Honesty, Joshua, honesty.)

All right, I wasn't ready for that sort of thing. I was getting better, I was even going to be much better at some point in the future, but I really didn't want to inflict the occasional nightmare/flashback thing on anyone (did I mention the running screaming in horror part?). The old 'exaggerated startle reflex' (as Stanley so eloquently put it) was still with me, and I couldn't run my usual five miles without gasping and reeling about drunkenly afterwards like a diver with the bends. However, I was not beyond laying a little groundwork. Who knew what could happen a few months, even a few years down the line? I just didn't want Donna getting desperate and running off with the first gomer she came across for want of a better offer.

Of course, my luck being what it was, when I reached Ainsley's office, I discovered something that really put the capital 'D' in my Day.

Donna has already found a gomer. The gomer is Sam Seaborn.

So, the mystery of where my assistant has been, and where Sam got to during the Staff meeting would appear to be solved. Did I do something terrible in a past life? I'd like to know, because that arch-witch Nemesis has sure got her Irony hat on today and I really don't want to play anymore.

Time must have slowed to a crawl because I'm still staring into Donna's startled-rabbit eyes. What I can see of her face over Sam's shoulder is tomato red, as well it should be. I know very well that I have no right to control what she does with her life, but Ainsley's CUPBOARD? Talk about undignified, and hurtful and plain stupid. What are they playing at?

Finally, there is movement from the cupboard and Sam slowly turns around, extricating himself from Donna's limbs with exaggerated care. Ainsley and I are treated to the sight of our co-workers looking like something dragged through a rose bush backwards.

I can't breathe. Donna's knees are grass-stained. Her KNEES are grassed stained. My eyes jerk to Sam and I take in the same green stains on his shirtfront and on his elbows.

What have they been DOING?

Immediately a thousand images start flashing through my mind like a movie on fast forward. And not the kind of movie you go and see at your neighbourhood multiplex either.

NO NO NO, STOP IT!

I can't get the pictures out of my head…

QUICK - Think of something else…Dead Kittens! The National Debt! Karen Cahill!

JUST STOP IT!

I am peripherally aware of Ainsley making strange noises beside me. All traces of her earlier giggle at my melodramatic exclamation are gone; she sounds as if she can't decide whether to choke or gag. I can relate.

OH GOD! Shouldn't have thought that - really bad image in my head now…

GET A GRIP!

I finally manage to throw a switch on my deranged thoughts and notice that Sam, rather than looking at me defiantly as I rather expected him to, is starting at Ainsley as though he'd like to stab out her eyes with the blunt end of a butter knife. This registers to me as odd since if there's anyone who has the right to be doling out the 'search-and-destroy' looks around here, it's Ainsley. I take advantage of their abstraction however, by approaching Donna,

"Donna…" I say. Which is a good start, but I'm kind of stumped now.

Donna gurgles alarmingly and starts frantically rummaging behind her.

"Thanks, Sam…" she says in a too high-pitched voice,

"…for helping me to find this…er…"

She whips her hand from behind her back. Her eyes goggle.

"…handy…um…bulldog clip"

If my heart wasn't currently being stomped by her stilettos, I'd have to laugh.

"Now I can go and…er…clip some really big pieces of paper together" she finishes, and flees the scene.

I want nothing more than to follow her, but I need to speak to Ainsley. Only one thing stands in my way - 

That no-good, dirty, heartless, rat-fink Casanova.

But I can't talk to him now, I just can't. Punch his pretty-boy face into next week, maybe, but talk? No.

He and Ainsley are still staring at each other. Sam has this contemptuous expression on his face, like he's waiting for her to break down and confess something. But what? It's no good; I have to get rid of him before he drives me crazy.

"Sam"

"Yeah, Josh?"

He turns to me and I can hardly believe my eyes because there is no contrition or apology or even defiance in his face. Instead he's gazing at me with this nauseating expression of sympathy.

Sympathy? For ME? How dare he? I'll…I'll…

I quite consciously force my hand out of the involuntary fist it's made and promise myself - 'Later'. Instead I say,

"Toby and Leo are on the warpath because you missed Senior Staff. If I were you, I wouldn't tell them why"

I try and keep my voice level, but I'm sure he can hear the coldness in it. I'm 'on my uppers', as my Mother would say. It's almost satisfactory to see the sudden alarm on his face, but what Leo has in store for him is nothing to what I'm planning in my mind. Let him stew.

"Oh God" he groans "I lost track of time"

I'll just bet he did.

"You'd better go, then," I grind out between my teeth. He looks a little disconcerted by my tone of voice (Ha!) but takes my advice and makes for the door, but not before shooting another killing stare in Ainsley's direction and a questioning look at me.

When the sound of his footsteps has faded, Ainsley and I are left eyeing each other uncomfortably and neither of us can think of a thing to say. She looks as if she's trying to hold tears back; to her credit, they don't fall, but I'm left feeling as if I'm presiding at the inaugural meeting of the White House Broken Heart Club. Ainsley gives herself a little shake and says tremulously,

"What do you think they…?

But I don't let her finish. I can only take one punch in the face at a time. The Lawn Gymnastics Team will have to wait until I know whether I need to bother getting up for work tomorrow morning.

"What did Mr. Nice say?"

She opens her mouth to protest at this interruption, but sees my face and snaps back her professional façade. It's a little ragged around the edges, but it's good enough.

"Okay. Mr. Gneiss. Well, he was very happy to see the Rose Garden…"

I can't help but feel a little frisson of satisfaction at the apparent success of my plan to soften him up.

"…but Roses as a genus rarely display at their best in early February despite the current mild spell"

Oh. Have I mentioned that I'm not an outdoorsman?

"And?"

She pauses and looks at me speculatively.

"On paper and according to the information supplied to me by Mr. Ziegler, there is enough evidence to support a claim of intention to defraud. Mr. Gneiss agreed with me that the potential consequences, in theory, could be…bad"

Nemesis is back and she's breathing down my neck.

"How bad?"

"Theoretically, in addition to the criminal charges that Mr. Ziegler could face, there is enough evidence in the form of a paper trail to link his drastic drop in salary to the President himself"

I feel dizzy. What is she saying?

"What are you saying? I signed off on the $1 thing…"  


"Yes, you form part of the chain of command, but unless you confess to masterminding the conspiracy, the responsibility rests with the Oval Office."

The speculative look is back in her eyes. She's wondering what I'm going to do. I know what I WANT to do - I want to erase this day forever from history, I want to build a time-machine so I can go back and make Toby's aunt re-write her will and leave her money to a Cat's Home, I want to scream and shout and rail at the unfairness of it all. Unfortunately, I also know what I HAVE to do…

Suck it up, Joshua

"You'll have to tell them that's what I did, then. That I masterminded it, I mean."

I can barely get the words out. Ainsley's eyes have widened in surprise.

"But you didn't"

"So?"

I'd like to say more but there appears to be a large rock lodged in my throat.

Ainsley's shocked expression has softened into something like respect. Well it appears that my day is not a total disaster; I have managed to impress a Republican. Hooray.

"Josh, I have to confess that I have been guilty of underestimating you in the past, but this unprecedented spirit of sacrifice that you are…"

"I get the point."

It's nice to know she's impressed, but does she have to go on about it?

She smiles at me as if she understands. I can't smile back, because…well, because I've got nothing to smile about.

"However…"

There's more? Oh, please God no…

"Your gallant attempt to cast yourself as White House scapegoat will not be required since, as I said before, this potential consequence is theoretical at best. Mr. Gneiss had brought additional information with him that obviates the need…"

Her phone rings and I jump about a foot in the air. I was totally lost in thought as I got stuck on the 'however' bit and have hardly heard a word she's said since. Not that I would have understood it anyway. Verbose is the kindest thing you can say about her way with words.

Ainsley looks frustrated at the interruption, but I only feel a kind of numb relief that at least I know the worst. And it IS the worst.

"Yes, Mr McGarry," she says into the phone, then mouths at me what looks like, 'Don't go away, I haven't finished'.

What else could she possibly have to say? I back towards the door shrugging my shoulders hopelessly.

She looks almost frantic and clamps her hand over the mouthpiece saying,

"Josh, wait. Please!"

But even from here I can hear Leo's bark over the phone and Ainsley, though a Republican, is not stupid enough to ignore him. She rolls her eyes at me in desperation, but I can't take anymore and I almost run out of the door. As I head back up the corridor, I can faintly hear her voice saying,

"No Sir, Sam's not here"

Ten minutes later, I'm sat at my desk and if anyone were to ask me, I couldn't have told them how I got here. I know that I need to think about what to do next, but the only plan I've come up with so far is to sit here with my head in my hands. Random thoughts keep popping into my head. I have to tell Toby about this - will Donna stay on here when I'm gone? - I've got to go and tell Leo - I want to talk to my Father - there's no point in asking Donna now - what's the same size and shape as a matchbox? - what will I do now? - why Sam, Donna? - and on and on.

"Josh, I've got to talk to you."

For a moment I wondered if I've conjured up his voice in my mind to torture myself but when I look up, he's really standing there.

Sam Seaborn.

Everything I'm feeling is swept away in an icy-cold torrent of rage.

"I have nothing to say to you."

He plunges on regardless.

"I'm worried…"  


"You should be"

"…about you."

"How generous. A generous back-stabber, that's a novelty"

"I was trying to help!" he cries. He has that wide-eyed innocent look down pat.

"That's an interesting euphemism"

He looks puzzled. Perhaps he doesn't know what 'euphemism' means.

"I understand, Josh. I know you're taking your anger out on me…"

"How did you guess?"

"…because Ainsley's not here, but…"

"AINSLEY? What's she got to do with it?"

If he doesn't stop with the commiserating looks, I will hit him, I swear to God.

"You don't have to pretend with me, Josh. I know what's going on. That thing in Ainsley's office, earlier? I heard…"

"A thing? You're calling it a THING?"

His voice gets all quiet and earnest.

"What do you want me to call it Josh? There are lots of ugly words I can think of to use, but I'm afraid to say them out loud. Donna says…"

"Stop it! I don't want to hear it! I don't care what Donna says to you"

My rage is getting hotter at his unbelievable attitude. I thought he was my friend…

He has started pacing and looks frustrated.

"Stop trying to avoid the issue Josh. I told you I wanted to help, and I will, but just stop it! What did she threaten you with?"

He throws the last question at me belligerently and confusion is added to the anger. Has the world run mad? Why would Donna threaten me? What does he think I've done to her?

"Sam, what the hell are you talking about?"

He ignores me and continues pacing.

"I could hardly believe my ears when I heard her say those things."

What has Donna been saying?

"Oh, she had me fooled all right. She had us all fooled, with that pretty little face and that long blonde hair and those eyes, and all the time she was planning THIS, that conniving little b…"

I cut him off in mid-word my slamming him against the wall. I think I'm shouting incoherently and shaking him, but all I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears.

"You BASTARD! How dare you blame this on her! If you say one more word, I'm gonna…"

Sam, who's been gurgling pathetically and trying to tear my hands from his collar, gets purchase with his hands and pushes me. My hands slip to his lapels, but I hang on as his momentum sends us staggering drunkenly across the room. We rebound off my desk and a pot of pencils crashes to the floor.

"JOSH! Get off me! You're acting like a crazy man!"

I'm leaning back over the desk and he's trying not to overbalance.

"I'M CRAZY? What the hell were YOU doing cavorting about the place with my assistant?"

"I was only trying to help!" he wails again. It doesn't make much sense the second time either.

I'm forced to take one of my hands from his grass-stained jacket so I can grab the edge of my desk to pull us upright again and he twists and pulls away from me. He tries to step back, but slips on the rolling pencils and crashes to the carpet in a heap of flailing limbs. I wrench myself vertical and go to pull him up so I can punch him down again, but he suddenly starts wriggling and squealing like a girl.

"What?"

"OW! You're standing on my hair! Get off!"

"Oh. Sorry."

WHAT AM I SAYING?

"On second thoughts, how would you like it if I start PULLING it out?"

I reach down for his head but he rolls jerkily away from me.

"NO! Leave my hair alone!"

He tries to get his feet under him but one of his legs catches me in the knees. My arms pin-wheeling, I can feel myself falling backwards so I lean forward at the waist but I overcompensate and have to duck and roll to prevent my head from hitting the edge of the desk. I crash into it anyway and a pile of folders topples majestically onto my body.

Ow! Godammit, that hurt!

Through a flurry of papers, I can make out Sam crawling towards the door. So far gone that I can't even remember why I'm doing this, I growl and leap for his trailing foot. Hampered by files, I only manage to grab the hem of his pants before my chin hits the carpet. It's enough to stop him though. His knee slips and he lands on his stomach with an "Oomph!"

"GET AWAY FROM ME YOU DEMENTED MADMAN!" he yells, hoarsely and starts crawling on his elbows. I think his suit must be beyond repair by now.

I hold on and follow. On one elbow.

"Just stay away from her" I say weakly (this is really tiring).

Reaching the door, he gets his hands under him and drags his knees up. He manages to drag me a couple of yards before I let go of his pants and I'm left sprawled face-down in the middle of my office, wincing at the carpet burn on my wrist.

Lurching to his feet, Sam turns at the doorway. His hair is standing in all directions and his eyes wide with alarm.

"I'm going to find Donna now, Josh. I think you need HELP."

Just hearing Donna's name come out of his mouth is enough to set me off again. I practically hurl myself to my feet and go for him but he sees me coming and with a startled yelp, slams the door in my face. My face meets glass. I bounce off, stagger in a circle and collapse gracelessly onto my back.

I stare at the ceiling for a while.

I'm wondering why I feel slightly better than I did before. Must be all the exercise.

The pattern on the ceiling tiles is oddly soothing.

Why do they call them 'suspended' ceilings? What are they suspended from?

If Donna found someone she was happy with, I'd be happy for her. Maybe.

She can't be happy with HIM. Could she?

No.

I have a plan.

I may be down, I may be humiliated, I may be jobless, but I'm gonna get Donna away from that two-faced back-stabbing Don Juan if it's the last thing I do…

TBC

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



	4. The Rose Garden Conspiracy 4

Title: The Rose Garden Conspiracy part 4

Title: The Rose Garden Conspiracy part 4

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1] (Feedback means more to me than gold)

Rating: PG

Subject: Josh/Donna, Sam/Ainsley (sort-of, in a very twisted way…)

Spoilers: Five Votes Down/Season 2 up to and including The Leadership Breakfast

Disclaimer: All the characters herein are the legal property of NBC and Aaron Sorkin esq. Sue me not, fair Sirs, as my pockets are empty and I do but dally awhile with these fair mortals and will return them intact, anon.

Summary: A stolen memo, a meeting in the Rose Garden and the IRS. A mystery is afoot. Does it have something to do with Josh's missing coffee mug? And what is CJ hiding in her office? Why is Donna in Ainsley's cupboard with Sam? Just another 'normal' day at the West Wing…

Part 4 - Donna POV

No, no, no, no, no.

There is no way this can happen to me TWICE in one day.

Did I once kill a rose bush without knowing it and now they're out to get me?

Have I been cursed by the God of Bad Timing?

Am I destined to be forever remembered as the assistant found in compromising positions with the Deputy Communications Director?

I 've got hold of Josh's coffee mug with one muddy hand and I'm not letting go, as it's the only thing tethering me to reality at the moment. Sam's weight, pressing me into the sodden earth doesn't seem real, President Bartlet's amused eyes, twinkling at me from under his umbrella certainly don't seem real and as for the rose bush currently attached to my head, it's taken on the unreal ambience of a nightmare (only with thorns).

Dear Lord, I promise faithfully never to enter the Rose Garden again, I promise never to listen to Sam Seaborn's clever ideas, I will bring Joshua Lyman coffee every day, I will be kind and helpful to everyone I ever meet, even Republicans, just please, please, please…

GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!

And there I was thinking I felt humiliated after being found in Ainsley's cupboard with Sam. Ha! That was nothing. I'm even beginning to look back on the event with nostalgia - although, come to think of it, there was a small near-miss in the locker room afterwards which still makes me break out in a cold sweat…

There I was, scampering away from Ainsley's office as fast as my battered legs could take me. I was still clutching the stupid bulldog clip in my hand and the heat coming off my cheeks was enough to make blister paint. I was barely aware of where I was running too, I just knew that I needed to hide out for a while and regroup. I made it to the bottom of the staircase, a fragment of thought came to me and I abruptly spun to change direction - the locker rooms! My heel caught in the carpet and I staggered slightly, reaching out a hand for the wall to steady myself. The bulldog clip clanked and scratched across the paintwork and pinched my fingers, so without thinking twice, I chucked it carelessly over my shoulder, pushed myself off the wall and headed for sanctuary.

Luckily, the place was deserted so I collapsed onto a bench and just breathed very deeply for a couple of minutes. I couldn't get the deep shock in Josh's eyes out of my head. Also the hurt. I Donna Moss had hurt Joshua Lyman, and not in a good way. I mean, I had my own little ways of poking through his thick skin, taking him down a peg or two, making his smug smile falter - it was for his own good after all, but this was different.

I know it was different. I could see it in his eyes.

I also tried to get a handle on what he was really feeling. Shock and hurt I could understand - his assistant and his best friend found intimately entwined in a cupboard? That's got to hurt on some level, right? I mean, there's the whole professional betrayal aspect, the whole being kept in the dark thing. But there was a part of me, long kept in denial, that recognised the look in Josh's eyes for what it was - Heartbreak. With a capital 'H'.

The realisation that he might care for me more than I suspected had me reeling in alternating euphoria and terror. Could he…? I mean, Really…? Oh, this was bad in so many ways. What the hell was I going to do? It was one thing for me to have a PLAN to erase him from my heart, but what if he didn't want to be erased? And not only that, the disastrous results of my little PLAN looked like they were going to destroy him anyway.

Talk about dramatic irony.

Talk about the left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing.

Just kill me now.

However, never let it be said that a Moss wallows for long in the muddy soup of self-pity. I may have inadvertently broken what didn't need fixing, but there was still time for emergency repairs. I was going to strap on my (metaphorical) tool-belt, go straight back to my desk and wait. When Joshua returned, I was going to stand with dignity and…

With torn pantyhose and grass-stained knees.

Damn. Hell.

At least I'd come to the right place to brood at any rate. If I remembered correctly, my scarcely used locker contained an old pair of sweatpants and sneakers that I'd stowed there weeks ago after gorging on Christmas cake. My plan at the time had been to engage in a little gentle running during my spare time - which of course just goes to show how delusional I'd been, because I don't HAVE any spare time. Josh takes it all up.

I found the sweatpants, but the sneakers had disappeared through a black hole or something as they were nowhere to be found. Oh well. I thankfully removed my shoes and skirt, stripped off the pantyhose and made my way to the shower in an attempt to remove the stains. They proved to be indelible, but I figured that at least they wouldn't show under the sweatpants. I dried myself off, dressed quickly, put my shoes back on, made a quick check in the mirror…

AGH!

…then had to sit down again feeling quite faint with terror. To think I had nearly gone out looking like…I don't even know like what. Something really, really bad.

Okay, listen up, Donna Moss's Fashion Tips for Girls #1. Grey sweatpants and blue three-inch stilettos? Not a good combination. Seriously. Especially with a blue suit jacket. Do Not Try This At Home.

Practically palpitating with relief that I'd discovered my mistake before anyone saw me; I was then left with the dilemma of what to wear. What were my choices?

Smart blue suit, bare legs, green knees.

Nightmarish hooker on a fitness-kick combo.

Decisions, decisions…

I of course plumped for the bare legs option as being slightly less distracting to onlookers, when it occurred to me that I was in a woman's locker room serving quite a few busy professionals. Surely someone had a spare pair of pantyhose? Could I…? Should I…?

I did.

I figured that having broken so many laws today (against decency and fashion sense to name but two), I was already well on my way to becoming a hardened criminal and should stop agonising so damn much already. The results of my ransacking of lockers (and no, I'm not revealing how I got into them - we criminals have a code, you know) was not exactly stellar, but needs must and all that.

I surveyed myself yet again. Baggy, opaque black pantyhose sandwiched between my snappy blue suit and shoes was not quite in keeping with the image that I usually presented to the world, but it was marginally better than green knees and was practically worthy of Vogue compared to the (shudder) OTHER option.

Respectably clad and my humiliation and panic squirreled away neatly in the Denial file of my brain, I made my way back to my desk. My steps were rather slow however. My tool belt was on, but I was slowly coming to the conclusion, that I really didn't know how to use the tools. What would I say to him?

"Hey, Josh. I know I was in the cupboard with Sam, but I'd rather it was with you…"

Umm, maybe not.

"Josh, I have a little confession. I wrote down all the things I like about you, but the list got stolen which is why your career is in danger of coming to an end. Sorry. Do you like me too?"

Definitely not.

I was fortunately distracted from my increasingly negative train of thought when I saw CJ coming towards me. I was trying to work out what was different about her appearance. She looked somehow less tall… That was it, her hair was wet. In fact, it was dripping wet and practically plastered to her skull. Her shoes were trailing mud.

What?

"CJ!"

She looked up, alarmed at my shout, then relaxed somewhat as she recognised me. She trotted up to me looking tired and depressed.

"Hey, Donna"

"You okay? You're all wet!"

She started to answer, saw my legs, did a noticeable double-take and after a quick glance at my closed face, decided not to comment (I love CJ).

"I'm…fine. Got caught in the rain."  


"It's raining?"

"It's February. Why are you surprised?"

"Well…it wasn't raining earlier…" I trailed off weakly, mentally kicking myself in the shins.

  
"Did you get caught in the mud as well?" I asked, regrouping rapidly.

She looked down at her once shiny Oxfords and frowned.

  
"It does seem that way" she said, then winced and cradled the palm of her right hand in the left.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. I have a blister."

She held out the injured hand and showed it to me. She looked like a small child showing her 'bubba' to mommy. I resisted the temptation to blow on her hand and say 'All better!', but only barely.

"How did you get a blister?"

"Oh!" she said, surprised at the question. Though why she should have been after showing the thing to me is anyone's guess.

"I…er…I forget…"

Huh?

She pulled herself out of her slouch and said with alarming dignity,

"Excuse me, Donna. I have a briefing at 11.30 and I want to go shopping first"

"Shopping? Haven't you just been out…"

"Er…I've just been…somewhere else. Not shopping. No."

"Oh"

"Okay"

She turned to leave just as I remembered an odd occurrence from a couple of hours ago,

"CJ?"

She looked back at me, a degree of trepidation on her face.

  
"Yeah?"

"What was that smell?"

Her eyes opened with alarm.

  
"What smell?"

"The smell in your office. Earlier."  


"A smell in my office? Donna, I think I would have noticed a smell in my office and I didn't, so there wasn't"

She lied to me. CJ lied to me.

"Yes there was"

"Wasn't"

"Was"

Agh!

She geared up for another rebuttal, but I squeezed in first,

"There was, because I smelled it!"

"Well Donna, I don't want to get personal, but it could have been you"

"ME? I don't smell!"

She looked me up and down, obviously taking in my less than pristine appearance. She did that looking sideways with half-smile and eyebrow raised thing she does; the inference was clear.

"CJ!"

She did look kind of sorry for what she'd implied. Perhaps she'd had a stab of guilt for disparaging one of the Sisterhood.

"Okay, maybe you don't smell. Did you have cheese for breakfast?"

"What?"

"You know. You have a really ripe piece of cheese and it gets on your hands and even after you wash them, you keep getting whiffs of the stuff for hours afterwards…"

"Are you sure you're okay?" I said again.

She didn't look okay. She looked like she wished she hadn't stop to talk to me. I kind of wished I hadn't stopped to talk to her.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. You go and wash your hands and I'll…you know…go shopping"

She waved at me in mock cheeriness and strode off down the corridor.

"CJ!"

What?

Blisters?

Cheese?

Is she on some kind of medication? 'Cos if she's not, I think she should be.

Perhaps I accidentally stepped into an alternate universe when I walked into the West Wing this morning. It could happen, right? It's not totally implausible is it?

Okay, maybe not.

Focus Donna.

I walked the few yards to the bullpen just in time to see Sam lurch out of Josh's office, his hair standing on end and a look of utter alarm on his face. He slammed the door and I heard a muffled thud against it from the other side. I'll swear the door shook with the impact.

Okay. Pop Quiz:

Question: What has Sam Seaborn just shut up in Joshua Lyman's office?

  1. An angry elephant
  2. An angry Republican
  3. An angry Joshua Lyman

Answers on a postcard to 'Donna Moss's Wacky World' c/o The White House.

Go on, take a guess…

I sighed and strolled on over there, gearing myself up for a spot of damage limitation, when Sam spotted me coming, hissed "Donna!", then ran over to grab my arm and pulled my towards his office.

I leaned back against his grasp and made him work for it (Petty? Moi?). He grunted at protest at my weight, but succeeded in finally hauling me to his door. Cathy gave us a stare of disbelief as we passed and I rolled my eyes at her. Let her think it was just Sam in the grip of enthusiasm. Once inside, I steadied myself, then gave him a hearty kick in the shin.

"Ow!"

"Stop treating me like a piece of luggage, or I'll aim my foot a bit higher, Buster"

His eyes glanced involuntarily down to my aforementioned foot and I was treated to the second double-take of the morning.

"Donna, your legs are black!"

How nice of you to notice…

"So?"

"…and wrinkled. Are pantyhose supposed to wrinkle like that?"

Okay, okay, the wrinkles had started to pool around my ankles and I looked like Edna the bag lady, but gentlemen weren't supposed to notice stuff like that.

"Sam? What I said earlier about hurting you?"  


"Yes?"

"Well the threat applies to comments about my legs."  


"Oh"

"Just so we're clear on that"

"We're clear"

"Good"

"Fine"

An apologetic look started to cross his face, but was quickly erased by a flash of guilt at being distracted from his Mission.

"Donna!"

"What?"

"Josh!"

"What about him?"

Sam clutched at his hair, which was starting to resemble a dish-mop.

"I think he needs help!"

"What?" I yelped, "Why didn't you say so?"  


I was halfway to the door before he grabbed me again.

"NO! Don't go in there! He's like a crazed animal or something. He attacked me!"

"He did?"

"Yes. He pulled my hair and everything!"

Okay, it was the wrong time to be amused, but I'm only human.

"Oh no, poor baby!"

He held me by the shoulders and his voice became soft and earnest. Damn these men when they're being earnest. I'm like putty in their hands.

"Donna, I'm so worried about him. I think the stress of this Ainsley thing has pushed him over the edge again. I know he was taking his anger out on me - but he could have hurt me! I don't know that damned Republican said to him after we left, but he was in such a state that I was…I was afraid for him."

Oh Boy. For a supposedly intelligent man, Sam is too often NOT the brightest sparkler in the box.

"Sam," I said, slowly and carefully, "He WAS angry at you"

His eyes screwed up in an effort to understand

"He was? Why?"

"Because he found you in a cupboard with me. That's why."

The penny dropped

"Oh"

"Oh indeed"

He looked unhappy and smoothed the hair off his forehead with a tired hand

"Well, I can see why he'd be angry at that. After all he…"

He stopped and gave me a strange, furtive look.

'HE WHAT?' I wanted to yell, but decided that after all, I wasn't going to go there today. I patted Sam on the shoulder instead.

"Never mind Sam. I'll just go and…speak to him"

He let me go without protest and I made my way slowly over to Josh's office. The door was still closed and I had to take a deep breath before opening it.

"Josh?" I said quietly and peered inside.

He was lying on the floor.

My heart slammed uncomfortably in my chest and I crashed to my knees beside him. I don't know why, but I half expected to see glass lying about. His eyes were staring at the ceiling and he was awfully still. My breathing erratic, I put my hands on his chest and shook him.

"Josh! Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

He grunted slightly in protest and let his face fall to the side to look at me. A myriad of conflicting emotions passed over his face but he made no attempt to get up.

"Josh, what's the matter? Why are you lying on the floor?"

"Donna" he said and narrowed his eyes appraisingly.

  
"Josh?"

He looked upwards again.

"I was looking at the ceiling," he said. "I have a nice ceiling. I never noticed before"

Oh God. Was it a fugue state? Had he banged his head? I waved my hand in front of his face.

"Josh, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"Joshua…"

His hand moved quickly and grasped me around the wrist. He must have been able to feel my pulse hammering away under the skin.

"Do you love him?" he said, with intensity.

I crouched there frozen in shock.

"What..?" I managed to squeak out.

His eyes kept moving rapidly over my face, searchingly.

"'Cos if you do, I wouldn't…I mean…I want you to be happy, Donnatella"

Oh my. I couldn't seem to breathe out properly over the blockage in my throat.

"I don't love him"

His eyes narrowed again as if searching for the truth of this. He nodded once, apparently satisfied, but his expression remained clouded.

"But I saw you…"  


"That was nothing. It wasn't anything." I chuffed out. My breath seemed to be puffing out like a steam train. Weird.

His mouth twisted

"Didn't look like nothing to me"

"It was…" I began, then stopped.

What was it? Should I tell him the truth? Should I tell him about the List and the PLAN? Would he understand? What if he knew already? What if he didn't? AGH!

He was waiting for my explanation, but when I couldn't articulate one, his pained expression deepened, then closed off behind a bland mask.

Oh Joshua…

"Help me up" he said abruptly, changing his grip on my wrist.

I stood and pulled. He got halfway up into a crouch, but stopped suddenly and stared at my legs.

"Donna? Why are you wearing leggings with your suit?"

"They're not leggings, they're pantyhose"  


"Are you sure?"

In my exasperation, I pulled him up hard, and without warning. His weight overbalanced me and I staggered backwards. He followed and I found myself pressed up against the desk, his hands on either side of me to steady himself.

Chuff, chuff, chuff. The breathing thing was back. I sounded like a raddled bar-stoolie on a forty-a-day habit.

  
We stared at each other, nose to nose. I could feel the heat rising from his body. My lungs hitched and wheezed like bellows.

"You were in a cupboard with Sam" he said, making no attempt to move away.

"Yes, I was"

"I didn't like it"

I could practically feel the vibration of his words in his chest.

Oh Boy. Was I in trouble.

"You didn't?" I wheezed out, nervously.

"No. What sort of guy takes a girl into a cupboard?"

He leaned in a little closer and added quietly and earnestly

"I wouldn't put you in a cupboard"

My heart threatened to batter down my rib cage.

KNOCK KNOCK

I jumped. He jumped. With a final pant of relief, I awkwardly pushed him aside and tottered to the door.

It was Ainsley.

  
"Josh, I have to speak to you. We didn't finish our conversation, earlier. I must tell you what Gneiss…"

The gall of the woman

"I don't think you can possibly have anything NICE to say to Josh" I interrupted as coldly as I could muster, considering the state of my nerves.

Josh came over hesitantly, staring at me strangely.

"Donna…"

"I was not under the impression that this matter was any of your business," said Ainsley, equally as coldly and narrowing her eyes at me.

"Ainsley…" said Josh, helplessly.

"Would you excuse us, Donna? I think you'll find the door is open, please close it on your way out."  


Miaow.

I glanced at Josh who was making 'get out of here' motions with his eyebrows. Well, I know when I'm not wanted. I stalked out and left them to it.

I was, however, more determined than ever to find out exactly what was going on here today. I wanted Josh safe, I wanted CJ sane, I wanted my nerves to be calmed to their usual placid state, I wanted…

'I wouldn't put you in a cupboard'

…oh my. That was either the silliest or the sweetest thing any man had said to me, and I wasn't sure which. Perhaps it was both. Still pondering this question, I found myself back at Sam's door. In any other circumstance, and I could think of plenty, he wouldn't have been my first choice for partner-in-crime, but it looked like I was stuck with him. Besides, the thought of bringing anyone else into this hopeless debacle was enough to give me goosebumps.

"Sam?"

He jumped up from his desk as soon as he saw me.

"What did he say? Is he all right? Are you all right? What…"

"Sam, calm down already. He's fine, I'm fine"

"Are you sure? You look kind of strange"

"Er…" I really didn't want to get into the cupboard thing, "Ainsley's in there with him"

"Again? Can't that she-devil leave him in peace?"

With that dramatic pronouncement, he leapt to his feet and made for the door.

"SAM! Where on God's green earth are you going now?"

"I'm going to shake her until she tells me what she's doing!" he bellowed. Cathy ducked under her desk.

"NO!" If he went in there, he and Josh would start getting all Alpha-male on me, then where would we be?

I chased him across the bullpen, overtook him, and threw my weight against his chest. He frowned at me in annoyance.

"Sam, stop it! I'm not getting into that chasing you about thing again. Would you please calm down?"

He gave a token struggle, then paused to take a deep breath.

"I've had a very stressful morning," he said between his teeth. "And it's all her fault"

Was it? I didn't know whose fault any of this was. Perhaps it wasn't anybody. Perhaps it was cosmic revenge or something. I was becoming increasingly convinced that Ainsley, although up to something, wasn't quite as bad as Sam was painting her. It was a case of 'The Gentleman doth protest too much, methinks'.

"Are you sure, Sam? We don't really know that she's done anything, do we?"

He stared at me incredulously

"Yes we do! I heard what she said to Josh! She passed that piece of paper to the man in the Rose Garden!"

"I don't even know if that WAS my list!" I said in exasperation, then paused to slap myself about the face. Figuratively.

"List? YOUR list? I thought it was a memo."

"It was! A memo I mean. A memo in the form of a list. Which was on my desk, which would make it mine. Circumstantially."

"Uh-huh"

He looked less than convinced, but decided to leave it - possibly on the grounds that the actual format or ownership of the piece of paper was kind of irrelevant at this point.

"Well, I'm still going to talk to her," he said stubbornly, and moved forward again. I was forced to take little shuffling steps backwards or be mown down in his path.

"Wait!" I yelped. I had to get through to the madman somehow.

"You might make things worse! We… we need more proof!"

Ha! That got him to stop. He looked at me approvingly.

"That's not a bad idea," he said slowly.

"Yes." I nodded my head vigorously. "So lets just go back to your office," I said, encouraging him in this more receptive frame of mind. I tried to turn him around gently, but he spun suddenly in the other direction so that my hand shot off his shoulder and I half-fell forward into the back of a chair. 

"More proof!" he said, his Sherlock Holmes look back again, and started striding for the hallway.

"Sam! You're going in the wrong direction!"

"No, I'm not", he called back over his shoulder.

"Stop! Where are you going?"

I extricated myself from the chair and stumbled after him. No, no, no. What had I started now? There was no way we were going to do this again.

"I hate your boss" I hissed as I passed Cathy's desk. From underneath the solid wood, I heard a small whimper in response.

I chased Sam down, contemplating a flying tackle, but I didn't have any illusions about our comparative strength. I would have to rely on shouting.

"SAM! Stop this minute! Where are you going?"

He didn't even slow.

"Back to Ainsley's office" he replied.

I gritted my teeth. He was like an unstoppable train. I had horrid visions of me being forever doomed to chase him through the endless hallways of the West Wing. Donna Moss does not chase people. Donna Moss is a leader.

On impulse, I stooped to pull off my shoes and praying that I wouldn't bump into anyone important, sprinted past him. I heard his footsteps quicken behind me as I made for the stairs.

"Donna? What are you doing?"  


"You're not safe to be let out alone!" I yelled over my shoulder. "People might get hurt. If you insist on being the Spy-Master, I'M gonna lead this time"

"Okay", he said weakly.

Grinning through my sudden adrenaline rush, I hopped, skipped and jumped down the staircase, Sam huffing and puffing behind me like the Little Red Engine.

"Woah!" [stumble, slither, bump, bump, bump, Whoomph!] "Ow!"

Oh Hell. What now?

I slowed reluctantly and turned to find Sam in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Shaken but intact.

"What happened?"

He made it onto his knees, wincing as he put weight on his wrist.

"I tripped on something!" he said, sounding aggrieved. He scrabbled around on the carpet near his feet and produced a small object.

"A bulldog clip!"

Oops.

"Who left a bulldog clip lying around on the stairs? That's dangerous!"

Should I tell him? Ha! Not likely.

"Sam! Stop playing with it and get a move on!"

He grumbled something inaudible, but got to his feet obediently and limped after me.

Revenge is sweet.

Unfortunately, my sudden metamorphosis into action hero proved to be fruitless. Ainsley's door was locked. Perhaps she was worried that some more deranged people would wonder into her cupboard while she was away? I thought for a moment that Sam had really lost it and would try to gnaw his way through the door with his teeth, but I managed to restrain him with a promise to keep looking elsewhere.

Bad idea.

"The Rose Garden!" he said, brightening up.

"No, Sam please. No more, I can't take it." It wasn't exactly a whine, more of a…okay, it was a whine. I would defy anyone not to have whined at that moment. Stephen Seagal would have whined. Jean-Claude Van Damme would definitely have whined, the great Belgian wuss.

  
"She might have dropped something," he said, lost in fantasyland. "We could find a clue!"

"What? A mysterious object that will miraculously link the characters together and reveal the dreadful truth?"

"Yes!" he said excitedly, blind to my sarcasm. He was way too perky for my liking and I was beginning to wonder what he would do if he actually DID find some incriminating evidence on Ainsley. Maybe he'd be disappointed that he wouldn't get to torture the truth out of her. He was one sick denial-riddled puppy.

Which is why I couldn't leave him on his own.

"Lead on, Holmes" I muttered and he danced away. I trailed dejectedly behind.

At the door to the garden, I paused to put my shoes back on. This proved to be difficult as the stolen pantyhose had mysteriously grown in length during my sprint down the stairs. I looked like I was wearing flippers. By the time I'd hitched them up to my armpits and forced my toes into the stilettos, Sam had disappeared from sight.

I hobbled outside, blinking my eyelashes against the cold drizzle that I had completely forgotten about. Damn. I could feel my hair enter frizz-mode.

"Donna! Come here, quickly!"

All excitement had left Sam's voice. He sounded amazed, even slightly scared. Had he actually found a clue after all? Could the Gods be that cruel?

I jogged over to where he was standing and was met with a sight that even made me goggle in amazement.

What?

There was a small pile of muddy earth that looked as though it had recently been dug over. Next to this, half-propped against a box hedge was a muddy spade. Not terribly unusual sights in a garden, you might think, but placed neatly next to the spade was a very familiar sight indeed. An object that had no business to be anywhere outdoors, let alone in the Rose Garden.

Josh's coffee mug.

I wiped the rain out of my eyes and looked again, just to make sure. Yep, there it was. I could clearly see 'Master Politician' in jaunty red paint.

Why?

WHY?

"Is…is that Josh's?"

"Yep"

"Are you sure?"

"Yep"

"Are you sure?"  


"Yes, I'm sure"

Sam, clutching his hair in his hands yet again, fell to his knees in the mud.

"What has she done?" he moaned in accents of despair.

Oh Man, where did this guy get his degree? By mail order?

"Sam, that hole is a foot square at most. You don't seriously think she's murdered Josh and buried him there do you? I saw him alive and well (sort of) five minutes ago!"

He looked embarrassed.

"Of course I didn't think that!" he said, unconvincingly, but rallied quickly. "You've got to admit that this is pretty strange though"

"Oh, yeah, I'll admit that for sure"

I walked gingerly over to the coffee mug and picked it up. It looked kind of slimy inside but was otherwise intact.

"I think there must be something buried here though" Sam said reflectively, using the spade to get to his feet and then swiping ineffectually at his muddy knees with his muddy hands. "What would Ainsley bury?"

"How do we know it was Ainsley? It could have been Josh" I waved the coffee mug at him.

"Hmm. Perhaps he was concealing evidence"

"In the Rose Garden? Pretty stupid place to conceal anything I would have thought" Not that I could claim to be actually doing any thinking as this conversation clearly demonstrates.

"Only one way to find out," said Sam and grasped the spade in a determined manner.

"Sam! You can't dig up the Rose Garden!"

"I'm not digging, I'm re-digging"

"Semantics"

"Whatever"

"Sam!"

I stepped over to try and wrest the spade from his hand. Unfortunately, I stepped in the muddy hole and my foot disappeared up to my ankle in sludge. My body listing sideways, I grabbed at Sam for support.

"God, Donna. You're a real klutz today, you know that?"

"Shut up farm boy and help me out here"

Sighing he supported me as I tugged my leg, the mud making horrid squelchy noises. Unfortunately the dreaded pantyhose took that opportunity to grow a couple more inches and my foot popped out of the trapped shoe like a champagne cork. I flew backwards, my arms flailing and I caught Sam in the side of the head with the coffee mug as I went down. He grunted with pain and toppled forwards. I landed on my back in the wet grass with my head in a rose bush. Sam landed on top of ME.

Ow, ow, ow, ouch. Bruises on top of bruises. Plus, my dry-cleaners were gonna love me after today.

"Sam Seaborn, that had better be the spade I can feel"

Sam lifted his head from my…chest area and gulped.

"Hello Sam, Hello Donna. Doing a spot of gardening I see"

Our faces, probably very comical mirror images of white-faced shock whipped towards the very familiar voice.

President Bartlet, standing not three feet away holding an umbrella jauntily over his head, smiled at us benignly. 

In the words of a certain red-haired FBI agent,

THIS IS NOT HAPPENING!

So, you can see, I hope, why the cupboard thing no longer scores so highly on the Donna Moss embarrassing incident scale.

We're gaping at the President like guppies. He doesn't look angry; he looks amused, which is actually worse.

"Donna, I had no idea you were interested in roses. You should have told me, I often come out here for a stroll and I could have shown you around a bit. For instance…"

Oh God, oh no, he's going to lecture us.

"…did you know that the rose your head is in at the moment is actually an old species of Rosa Alba? Do you know what it's called?"

"Er…no"

"Well, it's actually quite funny, I'm sure you'll find it funny. It's called Perpetual White Moss"

Hysterical.

Before I can respond to this mind-boggling statement, the President decides to spread the misery around a little bit.

  
"Sam! Did you know that you have your foot in yet another Alba variety? A particularly fine example; a double bloom with fragrant pink flowers. It's a pity you can't see how lovely it is, but it's the wrong time of year after all."

"Uh" says Sam. I think his eyes have glazed over.

"Shall I tell you the name of this one? It's really quite apt."

"Uh"

"It's called Great Maiden's Blush" More sternly, "I think you should take the hint and let Donna get up, don't you?"

Sam is turning a most alarming pink. I don't think I've seen that colour on a human before. He scrambles to his feet rapidly without too much inadvertent groping and my rib cage creaks in relief. The President looks down at me kindly.

"Donna, I'm sure you'll have lots of interesting things to tell me later…"

I'd like to respond, but I've closed my eyes.

"…in the meantime, I'm going to take Sam on his own personal tour of the roses, because I can see how interested he is in horticulture"

I'm sure Sam is shooting me horrified looks, but I refuse to open my eyes. I can hear their footsteps moving slowly away.

"Ah, here's a nice example of a tea rose. Not fragrant, but a fine upright yellow bloom. It's called Tall Story by the way. I'm sure you've got a good story to tell ME, Sam"

"Uh"

"Now we have a red rose. You'll have to take my word for that, I'm afraid. Goes by the name of Intrigue…"

I wait until their voices have faded away before I open my eyes and slowly and painfully get to my feet. I am numbed with humiliation. I am humbled and defeated. I am lower in my self-worth than even Josh could imagine. I have reached the bottom, but at least things can only get better.

  
Can't they?

I manage to extricate my errant footwear from the mud trap and debate for a moment whether or not to bother putting it on again. It is then that I discover that things can not only get better, they can get…stranger. I've been cursed again, but I can't imagine by whom. Perhaps I've been mistaken for Jonah? We have the same number of letters in our names, two vowels and a consonant in common...

There is a dead fish in my shoe.

TBC

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



	5. The Rose Garden Conspiracy 5

Title: The Rose Garden Conspiracy part 5

Title: The Rose Garden Conspiracy part 5

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1] (Feedback means more to me than gold)

Rating: PG

Subject: Josh/Donna, Sam/Ainsley (sort-of, in a very twisted way…)

Spoilers: Five Votes Down/Season 2 up to and including The Leadership Breakfast

Disclaimer: All the characters herein are the legal property of NBC and Aaron Sorkin esq. Sue me not, fair Sirs, as my pockets are empty and I do but dally awhile with these fair mortals and will return them intact, anon.

Summary: A stolen memo, a meeting in the Rose Garden and the IRS. A mystery is afoot. Does it have something to do with Josh's missing coffee mug? And what is CJ hiding in her office? Why is Donna in Ainsley's cupboard with Sam? Just another 'normal' day at the West Wing…

Part 5 - Josh/Donna POV (I'm letting them take turns in this one)

Ainsley Hayes is my new best friend.

I'm even considering overlooking the fact that she's a Republican.

My only regret is that I didn't listen to her properly the last time we spoke. I know, I know, if wishes were horses, we'd all be up to our necks in manure by now and we'd have the biggest, lushest rose bushes in the state. (But more on roses later…)

By the time I've stopped obsessing about Donna's strange behaviour and finally start to listen to Ainsley, the black cloud hanging over my head suddenly looks less gloomy; in fact there may even be a hint of sunlight peeping from behind it. Who knows? Perhaps my guardian angel has finally stopped contemplating his navel, tripped up Nemesis and locked HER in the nearest cupboard.

(Note to self: Don't think about cupboards for the next few hours at least)

Anyway, as I was saying, as soon as Donna had huffily left the room, Ainsley practically swallowed her own tongue in an attempt to get her words out.

"Josh, I was concerned. I was concerned about you. I was concerned because I realised you had left my office unacquainted with the whole truth of my meeting with Mr. Gneiss. I can only blame myself for this. I should have told you the outcome at the beginning, but I was curious. I was curious as to your reaction to the worst-case scenario…"

"Ainsley, slow down! What are you trying to tell me?"

Ainsley closed her eyes and swallowed in an attempt to get her poise back.

"Mr Gneiss had investigated the bequest from Mr. Ziegler's great-aunt and new information was brought to bear on the case"

I was still confused, also rather surprised that she would confess to be concerned about me. I thought she didn't like me. On the other hand, the 'case' as she called it still wasn't sounding good.

"What new information?"

She smiled.

"It's quite amusing, actually"

"Ainsley! Get to the point! What new information?"

Her smile got a little broader.

"Mr. Ziegler apparently failed to inquire as to the nature of his aunt's bequest."

"He did?"

"Yes. She actually left her money to him in the form of a trust. A trust with conditions."

"Conditions?"  


"Yes. I will tell you the conditions in a moment, but the salient point here is that this form of trust is exempt from taxation."

My head span dizzily for a moment.

"Say that last bit again"

"It's exempt from taxation."

Thank you, thank you, thank you God.

I put my head in my hands to prevent it flying off now the weight of dread had been lifted from it. Abject relief makes you feel quite weak, did you know that?

"What were the conditions?" I asked eventually, genuinely curious.

Ainsley's mouth twitched, and she said, slightly unsteadily,

"The money is to be kept in trust until Mr. Ziegler's children reach their majority"  


Huh?

"Toby, doesn't have any children"

"Yes. If that situation doesn't change, on his death, the money will go to the Republican Party."

She started giggling.

She thought that was funny?

"Ainsley, that's horrible! Toby's aunt was a sick, sick woman. How can you laugh at this! Toby could end up helping to fund the next Republican administration!"

"I know!" [chortle, chortle, chortle]

It WAS sick. It was also, I had to admit, slightly amusing. I couldn't really hold Ainsley's reaction against her - I'm sure I would be doing the same thing if the situation was reversed. Besides, I couldn't help but imagine Toby's expression when we told him the news…

My mouth twitched.

Did I mention that Ainsley is my best friend?

She also has a very infectious laugh and the relief of the news is making me quite light-headed, which is the only explanation I can find for joining in the joke. Laugh? I nearly wet myself.

"Ainsley, you've got to let me tell him!" I say, wiping at my streaming eyes, "Please, please let me do it - it'll make my year"

Ainsley is grinning so widely, she looks like the Cheshire Cat on acid.

"Only if I can be there"

"You're on, bring the popcorn, we'll have a party"

Imagining Toby's look of horror is not doing wonders for my self-control at the moment. I'm also wondering if he'll actually consider dashing out to beget offspring to prevent the worst from happening. I'd love to hear THAT pick-up line…

The world is suddenly a brighter place. Wait 'till I tell Donna about this…

Ah.

That is if Donna ever talks to me again after our little 'close encounter'. What the hell was I thinking? Way to win back the fair maiden, Lyman. Just pin her against your desk, works every time.

"Ainsley?"

"Yes?"

"Er…never mind…um…okay…er"

"What is it?"

"Do you think Donna likes me?" I blurt out. Great, now I sound like an eighth-grader.

"Yes, of course" She says it like she doesn't even have to think about it.

"Really?"

"It's obvious"

"Really?"

"Yes"

"Really?"

"This could go on for a while. Why don't you just take my word for it"

"Okay"

Maybe I should go and thank the President for hiring this woman…

"But…"

Or maybe not.

She looks pained and embarrassed when she blurts out,

"…I don't know what's going on between her and…um…Sam"

The clouds start moving in again. Must be a low-pressure system somewhere around here.

"I don't know either" I sigh. And it's the truth. My outlook on life my be slightly more…positive than it was a while ago, but I still can't think of any reason for Donna to be in a cupboard with Sam. I'm trying really hard to give them the benefit of the doubt as well, so it's not as if I've resorted to my usual brand of psychotic paranoia over Donna's gomer boyfriends.

Me and my buddy Ainsley half-heartedly suggest a few likely scenarios, but despite our best intentions, they come out sounding either insane or borderline pornographic, which doesn't do either of us much good. In fact, Ainsley is beginning to look sad and depressed, so I'm not surprised that she starts making 'I have to go now' motions with her arms. I guess brooding's not a group activity.

She's really all right, you know?

"Ainsley?"  


"Yes?"

"Thank you. Seriously, thanks for everything"

She smiles warmly at me, even looks a little emotional and impulsively, 'cos I'm a tactile kinda guy, I hold out my arms to her. She looks surprised, but pleased as well, and after a moment's hesitation, steps right into my hug.

Well this is nice…

"Josh!"

"Sam!"

"Ainsley!"

"Sam!"

"Josh?"

…should have known that Nemesis is never out for the count for long.

****************************************************************************************

It's not every day that you find a dead fish in your shoe. For most people, it's not any day that you find a dead fish in your shoe. In fact, 99.9% of the population of the world will probably go through many pairs of shoes in their lifetime without once encountering expired marine life inside them.

So why does it have to be me?

Why do these things always happen to me?

For a few moments, I can only stare in Karmic outrage at the smelly, slimy THING nestling against the Italian leather of my once-lovely shoe but then a number of little events start to click together in my mind.

  * Mud. In the Rose Garden and on CJ's shoes
  * Rain. CJ was caught in the rain
  * The strange smell in CJ's office
  * A dead fish. In fact, if I look more closely…Ah, yes, indeed. A dead GOLDFISH

AHA!

I'm adding two and two together and getting about 3.5, because I don't know how the coffee mug fits into all this yet, but I'm pretty damned sure that Ms Claudia Jean Cregg is going to have an awful lot of explaining to do.

Still clutching Josh's mug in a death-grip, I start to march off back to the West Wing, stagger around a little bit, remove my other shoe, then jog back inside, slightly sheepishly. I'm halfway up the stairs when I hear the external door open again. It can only be Sam escaping from the President and I really, really don't want to be anywhere near him again for at least the next fifty years, so I start to run. My comedy pantyhose are flapping soggily against the carpet like penguin feet and the crotch is getting closer to my knees with every step, so with a sigh of exasperation, I veer yet again towards the locker room.

My exposure of the White House Goldfish Conspiracy will have to wait until I've managed to find some more clothes to wear. Talk about deja-vu. Three outfits in one day, and it isn't even time for lunch yet. I'm sure there's a moral in there somewhere, but damned if I know what it is…

Luckily, my fashion sensibilities are so blunted by this stage, that finding clean, dry clothes is my only priority. I strip off the damp muddied suit, leaving on my relatively intact vest top, then remove the black…things with relief and put the sweatpants back on. At least my shoes are pretty much unwearable. Instead, I manage to find a thick pair of sweat socks at the back of my locker and I am ready to face the world again.

All right, so I'm a bit chilly and I look like I've just got ready for bed, but I could always claim it was Dress-Down Day or something. Right?

I make it to CJ's office with the coffee mug clutched in one hand and my shoes in the other. I've only received a couple of curious looks and for once I'm glad that my status as Joshua Lyman's assistant means that strange behaviour is looked upon as quite understandable in the circumstances.

I knock.

"Come in!"

CJ sounds quite cheerful. She won't be for long.

I open the door and my eyes instantly fly to the fish bowl on the shelf by her window. Inside, swimming around quite happily, is a goldfish. Gail Mark 2, I presume. Is she the result of CJ's little shopping trip? (I think I could quite get into this Nancy Drew thing after all)

"Donna! What are you wearing? Don't let Leo catch you wandering about like that"

"I had a little accident in the Rose Garden" I tell her haughtily. She twitches.

"D…did you?"

"Yes. And would you believe what I found?"

Enjoying myself no end, I fish the…er…fish out of my shoe by the tail and brandish it under her nose. She squeaks and turns pale.

"This wouldn't be yours by any chance, would it?"

CJ puts her head down on her desk.

"Come in and close the door" she says wearily.

I comply. Then I put the fish back in my shoe (What? You didn't think I'd actually be wearing them again did you?), place Josh's coffee mug prominently on her desk and sit down, feeling quite smug and self-righteous.

CJ sighs and gives me a wry look.

"I might have known it would be you." She says

I'm not quite sure how to take this, so I stay quiet.

"I've been busy" she half-whispers furtively, "I forgot to feed Gail. When I got here this morning, the poor little thing was floating belly up. She must have died on Saturday night, and stared to rot over the rest of the weekend. Well, you get the picture…"

I recall the smell and wrinkle my nose.

  
"Okay, but why the skulduggery CJ?"

She looks monumentally embarrassed.

"You know what this place is like, Donna. If anyone found out I'd let Gail die, I'd never hear the end of it. What if Danny came back and…"

She breaks off and blushes.

"You're worried about what Danny would say if he found out you killed his love-gift?"

She blushes more deeply. This is fun.

"NO! I'm not worried about that! And Gail wasn't a love-gift, she was a…a…token of esteem. Besides, she was supposed to be crackers."

"Uh-huh. You know what else is cr…"

"Shut up! You should be on my side!"

"Why? Anyway, what WERE you worried about?"

"I was more worried about what everybody ELSE would tell Danny."

Oh. Okay, fair enough. I can see why that would worry her. It would certainly worry me and I'm impervious.

"Well, in that case, you're forgiven"

She smiles at me.

"But…"

Her face drops. (I should be on the stage)

I point dramatically to Josh's coffee mug, my eyes asking the obvious question. CJ squirms.

"Oh. I forgot about that. Well. Um…I needed to fish Gail out of the bowl and I couldn't find anything to use in my office, so I went next door and…well, it was the first thing I saw."

"You couldn't have used your own coffee mug?"

"Why would I do that?"

I decide to let that one lie as there is another mystery bugging me.

"Okay, but why the Rose Garden?"

CJ blushes again.

"Well, I couldn't bring myself to flush Gail down the toilet and…I dunno really. It seemed like the thing to do at the time"

"Burying a dead fish in the Rose Garden seemed like the thing to do?"

"Er…when you put it like that…I would have put her in a matchbox first, but I couldn't find one."  


"A matchbox?"

"Well, it's the right size and shape, you know"

Perhaps Californians shouldn't come East. It seems to upset their mental equilibrium or something.

I now have the facts in my hands. They don't make a lot of sense, but at least some of the nagging little details of my day have been cleared up. It's just the big nagging details I've got to deal with now. However, it now seems that I, a lowly assistant, have possession of some information that I can hold over the head of the Press Secretary. It might be handy to have her about if I ever need a favour…

"CJ. I'm sorry about Gail. I hope Gail 2 survives the winter"  


"Well, thank you Donna"

"No, thank YOU CJ. What's it worth to keep me quiet?"

A bit crude I'll admit, but I'm having way too much fun at the moment. There's a very mean and acquisitive part of my brain that's rubbing it's little grey hands together in glee right now.

CJ is staring at me open mouthed

"You wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I?"

"No! You can't!"

"Can't I?"

  
"No, you can't" she says in quite a different voice.

For some reason, I don't seem to be enjoying myself quite so much.

"CJ?"

"I didn't mention this before, but after I borrowed Josh's coffee mug from his desk, I stumbled a little coming out of his door and managed to slosh coffee on the carpet."

"You did?"

"Yes. I couldn't leave a coffee stain on the carpet, now could I?"

Oh-oh, she's got that cat playing with a wee-mousie look. What's that saying about pride and a fall?

"You couldn't?"

"No. Unfortunately, I didn't have a tissue with me, so I grabbed a handy bit of scrap paper from your desk."

Oh…Hell

"This piece of scrap paper, in fact" she says triumphantly, grabbing a crumpled and coffee stained, but still recognisable bit of stationary, and waving it in front of my face.

I feel like an eighth-grader caught stealing cookies from the teacher's desk.

"But it's not a piece of scrap paper, is it Donna?"

"…no…" I mumble staring at my sweat sock clad feet.

"And it makes very interesting reading…"

Isn't the ground supposed to open and swallow me up about now?

****************************************************************************************

I'm thinking of putting a sign on my door. It will say, 'Joshua Lyman's Amateur Dramatic Society' and underneath in smaller print, a comment about common sense and taste not being required, or something. I could get Donna to print it out in bright colours, maybe add a border…

I am currently the Dastardly Villain in the play going on in Sam Seaborn's head. He, presumably, is the Wronged Hero and Ainsley the Femme Fatale In Need Of Redemption (and we all know about Sam's enthusiasm for redeeming femme fatales). Suffice to say, if he had a sword, he'd be brandishing it, and I would be twirling my moustache and cackling in a debauched manner.

But you know what? I don't want to play that game, I've been there already today. This has gone on long enough and it's just getting…silly.

"Sam, stop posturing and close the door"

Well, he closes the door at any rate. Can't have everything I suppose. Ainsley and I are treated to the full glory of his present attire - he's wet, he's muddy, he's dishevelled and his hair…well, he looks like he's wearing Daffy Duck comedy wig, frankly. He is also narrowing his eyes menacingly and searching for his next line. He won't get any prompting from ME.

"Sam, don't say anything, just listen. There is nothing going on here but a friendly hug between friends."  


"Ha!"

"I beg you pardon?"

"Her? Your friend? Ha!" 

He points, he actually points. Ainsley, the object of the point, just looks confused.

"Why did he say that?"

"I haven't the faintest idea"

We watch with interest as Sam's face goes quite pale under the thin coat of dried mud and he shifts his point to me.

"You! You must be in on it too! There's no other explanation! Oh, what a fool I've been! This was some kind of set up, wasn't it?"

I think Toby must be wrong about Sam's lack of punctuation. He seems to be using it just fine at the moment. Overusing, even.

"Sam, I don't know what you're babbling about, but I had a problem earlier, and Ainsley sorted it out for me. That's all."

He deflates like a leaky beach ball.

"Wha…wha…really?"

"Yes, really. In fact, if there's anyone who should be outraged around here, it's me and Ainsley."

"But…but…I thought…"

"I don't think you thought at all. If you'd thought, you wouldn't have tried to lure my assistant into a cupboard. Ainsley's cupboard!"

He flushes.

"Sorry about that, but it was Donna's fault really."

"WHAT?"

Sam shuffles backwards and puts his back against the door.

"You're not going to attack me again, are you?" he says in a small voice.

"I might, " I growl, "if you don't explain what you meant"

I wouldn't really. I'm starting to find this funny in a twisted sort of way.

"Donna pulled us into the cupboard to hide from Ainsley"

Ainsley snorts in a lady-like way.

"Why were you hiding from Ainsley?"

Sam is shooting Ainsley nervous, apologetic looks,

"Because…we were searching her office?"

"WHAT? Why were you searching my office?"

Ainsley can shout good. I start to smile.

"We thought you were threatening Josh, or blackmailing him or something…" he trails off in humiliation as I start snorting with laughter. I stop when I see Ainsley's face however, as she's looking a little hurt under the bemusement and anger.

"What shall we do with him?" I ask her.

She shoots me a grateful look.

"Perhaps he needs medication"

"Maybe. Or we could send him to the President…"

"NO! NOT THAT! ANYTHING BUT THAT!"

Looking like a deer in the crossfire, Sam bolts from the room, leaving little muddy footprints behind him.

Ainsley sighs.

"I think, Josh, that I'll follow Sam. There are a few things that I want to say to him." 

Her tone could cut glass. I wouldn't want to be in Sam Seaborn's shoes when this woman catches up with him.

I wave her off and blissful peace descends on my office for the first time in hours. The relief I felt when Ainsley told me about the trust is as nothing compared to what I'm feeling now. There is nothing going on between Sam and Donna. There is a lovely ring to that sentence. I may frame it and hang it on my door instead of the Amateur Dramatic thing…

However, not that she's been up to any good either. I mean, spying on me? Spying on Ainsley? Sneaking about? Hiding in cupboards? What was she thinking? I'll have a few words to say to her too when I find her.

"Josh?"  


Well, luck is on my side for once. Looks like she found me first.

"Don…"

What is she wearing?

"What are you wearing?"

Um, not a very good start to my planned scolding session, I'll admit, but I'd defy anyone not to be distracted. She has frizzy hair, for goodness sake! Donna never has frizzy hair. I didn't know her hair could even do that. But that's not the worst of it. She has bare arms. Bare arms in the West Wing? Is that even legal? And no shoes? Has she run off and joined a cult because her boss was coming on to her?

She flushes, but to her credit, doesn't flinch.

"Joshua, my choice of attire is actually quite reasonable given the circumstance"

"What circumstance"

"The circumstance of me being covered in mud and…er…damaging my shoes"

Is this, like, the set up to a joke or something?

"Okay, I'll bite. How did you get covered in mud and damage your shoes?"

She closes her eyes and breathes deeply. She really shouldn't do that whilst wearing a vest.

"I…fell over in the Rose Garden" she says reluctantly, then opens one eye to see how I'm reacting to the punch line.

I'm not reacting at all - I'm still distracted by the vest.

"Josh?"

"Huh?"

She folds her arms - her bare arms - across her front self-consciously. This actually doesn't help. Give me a break, okay? It's February! It's been months since she's worn anything other than a suit or a polo neck.

"Joshua!"

I reluctantly move my eyes to her face and her words finally filter through to my brain.

"The Rose Garden?"

"Yes"

"The Rose Garden! You WERE spying on Ainsley! Why for God's sake?"

I know Donna can seem a bit deranged at times - just one of her little quirks, but spying? She has had a busy morning.

She flushes again, and looks extremely uncomfortable. She looks smaller than usual for some reason, then I realise it's because she's not wearing any shoes.

"I…we…thought she had this" she says and flaps a bit of crumpled paper at me.

"You thought Ainsley had a ratty old bit of paper? That makes no sense on any level. You know that, right?"

She squirms.

"All right. There's stuff written on the paper. About you. And I'm only telling you because CJ told me to"

Okay, I am officially confused.

"What's CJ got to do with it?"

"She had the paper"

"The paper you thought Ainsley had?"

"Yes?"

"And CJ told you to tell me about it?"

"Yes"

"But you don't want to tell me?"

"No"

"But you're telling me because CJ said you had to"

"Yes. We have a…deal. She won't tell anyone else, if I tell you"

"Okay. That's clear, kind of. So, do I get to know what's written about me on that piece of paper then?"

"I don't think that bit was part of the deal" she says in a very small voice. She also hides the paper behind her back.

There is something profoundly wrong with this. Donna is too quiet. She looks humiliated and humbled and I don't like it one bit. Donna usually gives me as good as she gets. She stands up to me. She gives me Sass. I like her Sassy. 

I want the Sass back.

I want Donnatella back.

"Donna…"

She looks startled and a little worried at the tone of my voice. She sees me creeping up on her and starts backing towards the door.

"Josh?"

"Give me that piece of paper" I say, keeping my voice as low and threatening as I can.

A little spark lights up in her eyes.

"No"

"I might have to hurt you…"

"I'd like to see you try"  


"Is that an offer?"

She mock-grimaces at me and I stalk her a little more closely. Her back is against the door now and she starts fumbling at the handle behind her.

"Get away from me Joshua. This is not funny"

Really, why are you trying not to laugh then?

"I'm not trying to be funny. I just want what's behind your back"

She can't get to the handle, so she starts sidling along the wall, trying to circle around me. She bumps into the filing cabinet, turns slightly and I take my opportunity. Grabbing the paper, I'm out of the door and running before she can even take in a breath to shout.

Once out of the door, I slow to a jog until I hear her rapid, muffled footsteps behind me, then I surge forward again. I clatter passed Toby's office and duck behind his open door for a moment so that I can look back. Donna's standing in the middle of the bullpen, spinning on the spot, searching for me.

"Josh what the hell are you doing?"

"Shh Toby. She'll hear you."

Toby sticks his head out of his office door and glares at me.

"Who'll hear me?"

"Donna" I nod in her direction

He follows my look and sees her peering behind CJ's door. He looks at me again, lurking behind HIS door and looks totally disgusted.

"You're playing hide and seek with your assistant?"

"Er…kind of"

"You're playing a game at a time like this?"

It occurs to me belatedly that Toby doesn't realise he's off the hook with the IRS yet. I should tell him. I really should…

"Joshua Lyman! Give that back to me!"

…but not just yet. Donna comes charging towards me, her hair flying. Cathy dives out of her path.

"Gotta go, Toby" Something occurs to me, "go and get yourself a girlfriend or something, I think you're gonna need one"

I charge off, leaving his outraged splutter behind me. I reach a hallway junction, feint towards the right passage, then dodge for the left. I hear Donna skid on the carpet, then right herself and follow. She laughs softly.

This is fun.

****************************************************************************************

Well, this is kind of fun. 

I'm chasing my boss through the West Wing and it's a lot more interesting than chasing Sam Seaborn any day of the week.

He's headed towards the Mural Room now; there are quite a few people milling about and they're giving us some pretty strange looks, but a quick glance at the crowd tells me that there's no-one there that we need to be impressing right now. Besides, the temptation is irresistible…

"STOP THIEF!"

Josh turns and jogs backward shooting me a glance of disbelief. I grin at him and keep running. The suits standing around are not quite sure what to make of this, but one of the younger men steps hesitantly towards Josh and he's forced to take off again. I charge through them like a plough through a cornfield.

I follow him round a corner, then have to break sharply and duck into the shadows, because Josh has been trapped by Leo and he's standing there chatting as though he hasn't a care in the world with the List held behind his back. I'm close enough to see that Josh is trying really hard to control his fast breathing, but he's not really succeeding very well as Leo is shooting him some pretty strange looks. I faintly hear Leo say,

"Are you okay, Josh?"

"Yeah, Leo I'm fine. I'm…er…in a bit of a hurry."

"Anything I should know about?"

"No. No, everything's fine"

"Well, good"

Leo walks away and I can see the tension in Joshua's spine. He knows he can't dash off again until Leo's out of sight. Ha! Got him.

I sneak up behind him, my socks an advantage for once and holding my breath, get as close as I can before I snatch the list back and run as fast as possible back the way we came. The people outside the Mural Room watch me in a bewildered fashion as I run passed them again.

"It's all right!" I yell, waving the list above my head, "I got it back!"

God knows what they'll make of Josh charging after me. I'm tempted to slow down and take a peek but…wait a minute. I stop and turn. No Joshua. Where has he gone? What is he up to now?

The tension is killing me as I sneak back to the bullpen. Is he lying in wait somewhere? Will he leap out at me when I'm least expecting it? I sidle up to his office again, but the door is still open, and it's unlikely that he could have made it back before me anyway. Just in case, I peep around the door and…

"Got you! Sucker!"

My arm is grabbed and I'm hauled inside the office and deprived of my list yet again.

Damn, damn, damn, he must have circled. I forget sometimes that he can run pretty quickly when he wants to. I try to snatch the list back again, but between my disorientation and his unsteady legs, we find ourselves mysteriously tangled together. My legs seem to be between his and my right arm and his left, both holding the List tightly, are stretched over our heads. He staggers slightly and grabs my waist to steady himself.

Well, this is interesting.

Perhaps I ought to see a doctor? My breathing has got weird again, even though I stopped running a while ago. Actually his doesn't seem much better and our chests are puffing and heaving in tandem. Which is not…unpleasant. He's staring at me as though he's never seen me before and the intensity of it is almost unbearable. He clears his throat.

"Are you gonna let me see the paper?" His voice cracks slightly.

"No" I whisper back.

Did I just move closer, or did he pull me?

The dimples peep out briefly, then disappear again.

"Okay"

I can feel a smile pulling at my own lips at his answer.

"Maybe I'll show it to you…later"

"You will?"

Either my ears are going funny, or his voice just got deeper.

"Yes"

"How much…later?"

His arm slides more fully around my waist. His hand is very warm.

"Well Joshua…"

"Yes, Donnatella?"

"That depends on you"

He clears his throat again and his face looms closer.

Ohmygodohmygod, he's going to kiss me…

"Donna?"

Damn.

"Yes?"

"I want to ask you something"

"You do?"

"Yes"

"Okay. What is it?"

His arm falls from my waist and our Moment slips away. I'm not surprised. This is Joshua Lyman I'm dealing with here. By the time he got around to gathering the rosebuds, they'd have died and dropped off the bush.

But that's okay. I'm not in any hurry.

"Um…I'll ask you later"

"Again with the later. Give me specifics."

"After lunch?"

"Is it lunchtime already, I thought that was hours off"

"Sarcasm does not become you…"

"Oh yeah?"

"…as that outfit does not become the West Wing. Go home and change"

"Okay, but only if you buy me a sandwich"

"Deal"

****************************************************************************************

EPILOGUE - MOSTLY CONCERNING ROSES

An hour and a half later, smartly clad again, I'm back in the West Wing and there is a huge bunch of pink roses on my desk.

He bought me roses?

I'm not sure whether to be pleased or annoyed.

"Donna!"

"Hey, Sam"

He must have found a suit from somewhere and his hair is back in place. I smile at him. I've decided to forget that this morning ever happened. Well, apart from the last bit…

"Do you like the roses?"

"They're from you?"

I must have sounded really surprised because his cheeks flush prettily.

"Yeah"

He reaches out and touches one of the blooms gently

"I learned quite a lot about…um…roses today"

"Did you?"

He winces slightly and I smile again.

"Er…anyway, I went to a florist and asked about these and…well…they had some - so here they are."

"What do you mean, 'these'?"

"They're a variety of tea rose called…er…Prima Donna"

"Really?"

"Yeah"

Well, I'm touched, I really am. He can be very sweet sometimes.

"Thanks Sam"

"You're welcome. I have to, you know, go and…"

He shuffles his feet and waves his hand in the direction of his office.

"Okay. Oh, say hi to Ainsley for me"

He winces again, then blushes, so I know they must have sorted themselves out. Ainsley isn't stupid.

"Okay"

I go back to the roses. They're very pretty, but they don't have much of a scent.

"Donna?"

It's Josh, he's carrying what looks like a little pot plant in one hand and large sandwich in the other.

"Hey. Is that for me?"

He thrusts the pot plant at me gracelessly and I can see that it's a little…you guessed it. It's a rose bush. With one tiny, slightly overblown reddish-pink rose on it.

"It's a rose bush"

"I can see that"

I bring the little bloom up to my face and sniff. It smells wonderful, like summer and Turkish Delight.

I glance up at him and he's looking at the roses on my desk, disconcerted.

"You have roses"

"Yes, Sam gave them to me"

His face clouds over and I say quickly,

"But this one smells better"

He smiles. I'm treated to the full dimple effect.

"Donna?"

"Yes?"

"Would you have dinner with me tonight?"

My heart gives a little pit-a-pat. PLAN? What PLAN?

"What, like a date?"

"Er…" 

He looks a little panicked at my forthrightness, but plunges ahead anyway.

"Yeah, sort of like a date."

He's not meeting my eye. Bless him.

"Okay"

"Good. Fine. Okay"

He smiles vaguely in my direction and abruptly turns and goes into his office. I hide my smile behind the rose bush.

"Donna!"

"What?"

"My coffee mug is back!"

I'd forgotten about that. I must have left it in CJ's office and she returned it.

He pops out of the office again, brandishing the mug.

"Well, good"

"I don't suppose you'd…?"

"Nope"

"Okay"

He heads for the coffee machine.

I notice a little label attached to the stem of the rose bush, so I carefully turn it around so I can read it. It says 'Rosa Alba Donatella'.

Oh Joshua…

"DONNA!"

"WHAT?"

"WHY DOES MY MUG SMELL OF FISH?"

THE END

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



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